Ashlyn and Trent

<h1>Can divine knowledge coexist with cosmic wonder?</h1> <h1>"What's done is done. What's done will be done." - R. Lutece <h1>[[This is the story of Ashlyn and Trent?]]</h1>

<h1>They fell in love?</h1> <iframe width="784" height="431" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DeSzKu1DiWQ"> </iframe> <h1>[[Or was it something else?]]</h1>

<p1>Dear diary, "Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself." I singed my fingernails. Three days ago I was using the stove and noticed some soot on them. I think my fingernails are hypersensitive to fire. Why on earth could that be? Trent told me I'm crazy; that I just want to be a special girl with special problems. But my fingernails love me more than he does and they know things that I don't. I'm just stuck in this apartment all day waiting, not always for him to come home from work, but just... anything. Perhaps I didn't singe them and they're just trying to trick me. When I was a little girl, my little white cat named Millie used to roll around in the woods and then I'd scratch her belly anyway. The black mud used to get stuck under my fingernails and mother hated it. "Little girls ought to be CLEAN." she'd say. "Little girls this. Little girls that. Little girls this. Little girls that." I'd whine. Well I'm no little girl anymore. Sometimes my fingernails send their thoughts to me. I know that they don't care about being dirty, because of their warm and sweet nature, their energy. "All good girls go to heaven." Dirty fingernails are the sign of one with clean secrets. Mother never had her own fingernails. As I stare at my black fingernails, I am alone in the apartment and they scream of her envy. I don't think they'll go back to normal, so I'd better just paint over them. Love, Ashlyn</p1> [[Who does she think she is?]]