Manipulo

Standing silently, forehead pressed gently against the dimly lit wall, her skin sticking to the paint offered little distraction from the thoughts of her abandonment. Fragile, frail, empty, and cold as she felt, her mind still danced among fleeting memories, reliving her lost love’s warm gaze and strong embrace. Curtains lifted as the nighttime air brought her company, raising brail-like flesh and encouraging a reactive shiver. “What did I do? What’s wrong with me? Why did I screw this up? He loved me, and now he’s gone. It was so great, and now it’s gone.”

A thousand mistakes were a thousand opportunities to do something differently. Consumed by the self, false clarity misplaced blame upon her heart, weakening its resolve to know what lay true before her. Acidic duress dissolved confidence, it poured through the cracks leaving a tight grip around her throat. Neither feeling swallow nor breath, the levy behind her glassy eyes gives way ending her stance as her head slides down the wall and her knees meet frigid tile. “I’m not good enough. I love him, but I am not good enough.”

He sat, staring blankly into the window. Now empty, lifeless.

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