Their blind admiration sickened her.
Their words had no substance and
The end of each night left her frustrated,
Disappointed, her fingers trembling towards
Every direction. And she spun, and laughed and cried.
Her eyes harvesting her eternal bitterness travelling onto her tongue.
She only exists in a detrimental chapter, too much meaning attributed to her.
The chemistry evaporated quickly and we stood opposite each other, empty-handed.
Had it been worth it, knowing each other?
The fantasies and borders we had constructed?
The confused, treacherous sadness and silence, malfunctioning
Alongside one another, keeping our hearts to ourselves.
“Ragazza alla toilette” by Paris Bordone (1500-1570)