A fairy tale misfortune

Finally, a scheme to surpass his melancholic glimmer—taking every bit of him…

She came to realize escaping was in no way helpful. Like closing her eyes to elude darkness, it rather aggravates. In the same way, avoidance was senseless and, hating—toxic and unnecessary. Having pulled herself away from him had drawn her even closer. Similar to an elastic band placed on a rod, she was restricted to him, encircling. And while for a moment, she could stretch to a far distance, thereafter she would spring back to him, closest, bound.

On the contrary, reminding herself about him was [in a way] therapeutic—his smile, his eyes, his hands, his laugh, his figure, his head that used to be filled with thoughts of her—it somehow lessened the ache beneath her rib cage. On occasions she couldn’t sleep, she read her journal and reminisced about the pleasant times—the days and nights he cared about her more than anything else, the time being he loved her utmost…

Relentlessly, she mused over the hapless reality:

One perfect day, he came to her and made her love all of his being… It’s as if he had given life to her heart perpetually that it only longed for him. And his heart, longed for her.

Her heart was conditioned impeccably, with every epithelium remained together until, alas, he shattered it to bits.

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