Female friendships are easily designed.

Even easier to demolish. Often they are born out of overlooked spite.

Macaria knew Melinoe inside out.

They were made out of the same wood and yet.

 

Melinoe went through hell. She claimed it too.

Macaria didn’t know that she too had felt the exact same pain.

The one swallowed it, the other had always kept it.

They both landed on the bathroom floor, locked behind the door.

 

Macaria held Melinoe’s crying head in her crotch and looked at the disaster

As she blew out the smoke from her dying cigarette.

What have I done, she thought.

Melinoe had loved and lost so hard.

 

Was she even capable of it? We, the wounded ones.

Should I be the one holding her?

She feels like a drunk infant, down there on the floor, not far away from vomiting.

And he is always there, the headline of every day, on her face, the heartache.

 

In the ashes of love that land on the dirty floor.

The girls rip their hearts out for him, kill each other off without blinking.

They all have the knife ready and don’t know what friendship is because the lust is

Greater, the abuse, the low self-esteem, the jackpot for the nemesis, the supposed lovers.

 

Macaria means every word of comfort she says to her companion.

She imagines her pain, unaware of her own, that she even exists and matters.

It’s all about Melinoe’s pain in that moment.

It is always about the pain that he causes.

Macaria thinks she’s safe, that she stands above it, that her heart is too sealed to end up broken.

 

They are all caught in the calamitous machinery.

Their instincts stink, their conscience non-existent, they’re too young.

Haven’t discovered the world yet, just homely disappointment and hardships.

Macaria and Melinoe only found each other in moments of hurtfulness.

 

Macaria knows how the two sides of it feel.

She will recuperate from one and repent for the other.

Melinoe is still hitting the bathroom floor when she opens the door.

The machinery of two-faced love a comfort zone she thinks she deserves.

Portrait_of_Maria_Akimova

“Portrait of Maria Akimova” by Valentin Serov (1865-1911)

 

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