She is writing her book now. She has lived and loved and it has torn her apart. Every stroke of the keyboard a reminder of the scars she now brandishes. She was a victim of love. Was? No she still is a victim.
They had met years ago. Both ambitious and witty. I don’t know if it was love at first sight. It’s really hard to say but she fell in love anyway. She fell in love with his mind and his words. When he spoke she undressed his thoughts and had her way with his mental process. She never really knew him. He was a mask. Like a scooby-doo villain every time she thought she had peeled it off another came to take its place.
The challenge was appealing. It kept things interesting. She didn’t see it consuming her. She kept at it peeling back mask after mask. With each mask she knew she was getting close. He was indifferent spinning words and letting her into his mind. It was a maze he knew that for a fact. He was lost himself. He still let her in until she was lost too. She didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. She became paranoid.
This put a strain on her. She didn’t want to eat anymore and her once curvaceous figure begun wasting away. Was tung away like the years she had given to him. It was hopeless but she still bore hope. He hated himself for taking her in. He wanted to bring her out but he couldn’t. He was a person he hated. Looking into a mirror his eyes bore the same resentment that she had when she looked at him. They were both lost in world’s apart. Maybe a product of hate would help a bouncing bundle of joy. A child was borne. Growing up in an environment of loathe it soaked every bit up. It grew to love his mind. It grew wanting to be better. He knew that being better meant being worse. It didn’t. He couldn’t stop it. So on his deathbed his last breathe he remained silent. Words brought all the turmoil silence might grant him peace.
She watched as life left. She cried. She did not know why she just did. She too wanted to be better. She used his words and found her way out. Only she got lost to herself. Now on her death bed she’s silent. Pensive and mauling over each thought. She knows freedom is a heart beat away. But she’s afraid. What if he is on the other side? Her heaven becomes her hell. She calls the young one over and scolds him. Asks him to stay away from his words to avoid his mind. It is the devil. It sucks you in, chews you up but never spits you out. He listens and nods and watches her lifeless self. He is now determined to be better. Better by being worse.
He sees her on the park bench. He walks up to her and introduces her to his words. To his mind and to his thoughts. She falls in love or so she thinks.