The Line In The Sand

Another clue stashed into the folds of his costly leather wallet. One more hinted fractured promise. How could she be so stupid? Too captivated and naïve to see the fraudulent grin beneath his rehearsed smile. He plays her well. Again and again. He has captured her diffident queen and has left her scrawny pawn but one space to move at a time, as his cowardly crown skillfully sashays across the board behind his guarding knight. Her mind gets instantly cluttered with a tenable amount of paranoia. Questioning his whereabouts and doubting her performance; or lack thereof. She seems to be pushing him away rather than drawing him in. Is she not enough pleasure or satisfaction? Night upon night, she searches the bed for his presence or a remnant of his virile scent. Her lonesome undesired body lays under her heavy cotton blankets as she imagines him entangled in silky red garments that appetizingly embrace smooth satin limbs. After how many burning flags will she conclusively etch her limit into the sand? When will she have gained enough strength to set sail and leave him forever stranded on shore? She is undeniably misusing her time as he mischievously spreads his semen without exhibiting a speck of culpability. Instead, she frantically seeks for more clues — more self-inflicted proof — further damaging her already broken soul. Despite the clear evidence, she investigates every crack and corner to find additional pain she can drag to rest as she reposes her racing head in her empty bed. When will she acknowledge that she is entirely deserving enough to be made a priority, and that her happiness cannot be neglected or robbed from her? To behold the endless possibilities, she must initially end the impossible. Set things free that were never truly existent. Release him and make him somebody else’s problem to fix.

Published by notapeepbutlotsofpaper

A silent voice with lots to say. I speak with pens to stay away.

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