Her eyes burned, her muscles hurt. It was five in the morning and she hadn’t slept that night. Thoughts of them kept her awake and she lay there crying. She couldn’t sleep knowing he was there, just one room away, hidden the silence of broken promises and shattered relationships. She was anxious, tense, almost manic at the moment. She wanted to get up and run, or scream or move. Anything to release what was welling up inside her. But she couldn't move. Every breathe she took was labored. Her body had no will left, no energy with which to continue running.
“I wouldn’t call it cheating; we’ll just say I was leading her on…” The song blared from the speakers and yet so eloquently reflected her life. He wanted his trophy girl and he got her. A shiny prize to place upon the mantel and show your friends. But like the trophy, she was beautiful and empty and so was the relationship they were staging. Empty. He couldn’t talk to her about politics or literature. She didn’t understand his poetry or prose. Their feelings for one another were shallow but easy and that’s just what they wanted. The McDonalds of relationships; fast, easy, cheap and ultimately something you regret buying later. It leaves you unsatisfied and longing for something substantial. I yearned for the day it would all fall apart, the day I could watch the stage lights dim and the actors take their final bows.
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