There was a time I needed her the most.
Or myself for that matter.
She proved that she was useless.
Her pride would always stand in her way.
Her unwillingness to be sensitive, her incapacity.
I had never felt so isolated and emptied of warmth.
Everything comes with a price tag.
Her friendship; me holding up her mirrors around her.
She wouldn’t leave her own skin for a moment.
And if she felt pain the whole world would suffer.
Transfer it onto everybody else, liberate herself.
Let others deal with the shortcomings of life.
“Portrait of a Lady” by Charles Edward Perugini (1839-1918)
Croque-Melpomene 