how?

1.
She thought of herself as clay,
the neon colored kind you mould into something exciting and carefully
wrap into plastic so that it stays soft.
She had always hated the softness, gathering on her stomach,
the pale fleshiness of her thighs and upper arms.
He could mould her into whatever neon shape he chose,
she was malleable, she was putty in his hands.
She smiled on every day, the colors he mixed, the shapes he chose.
Her happiness was tangible like powdered sugar,
light on the surface of tarts, breakfast delicacies
soft and sweet but always there.
He gave her roses, he gave her kisses as the
sun set softly over the parking lot.
She gave him neon shapes: dinosaurs,
hearts, polka dotted and swirled with color.

2.
He called her from a golf course in Florida,
she sat on her bed and looked at the rain falling out her window.
The wet rotting leafy world seemed to echo with
things fallen, things lost, the moment
when you look around and wonder where the leaves have gone,
when everything turned so grey and moldy.
He said that he missed her, and she wondered
what it was that he missed.
He had become the voice in her head, she
collected stories to tell him, she
predicted his reactions to her everyday ups and downs,
the screaming child in the grocery store, the comment
her mother made while cooking.