- This ain't a game, he said.
- Good,
'cause I ain't playing anymore, she said back.
But
then, upon the next few months, she sadly witnessed the prooves of his
duplicity, his unrealibility, the inconsistency of his words.
She watched him using the same tricks on all these other women - quite an
amount of them were falling in the traps he had set.
She grew even sadder when she realised she'd been dreaming all these
time. This so-called romance was pure imagination... it felt like her soul had
been soiled. She had fooled herself once again, with still the same usless,
pointless ideals... She wished she could wash them all off, and get free at
last.
She turned to the mirror and watched herself. Tears were falling off,
water accumulating in the wrinckles which were yet starting to dig her face,
deeper with the crying. She wished she could rip her skin off, all of it, and
start growing a new one, all soften and soft and ferm. She could see it, so
beautiful, so clean, so pure.
We ain't young and beautiful anymore, we never were, we never will be. Secret
hopes are falling apart. All of this was just hypothetical promises, childish
wishes, long-learnt lies from conventional moovies and soap operas. They had
grown so numerous in her head, tightly linked to one another. She was affraid
she would find herself empty, if she got rid of them all.
And they had sex like she never did in her whole life.
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