I saw her look for solace in her lonely self; she had been sobbing for a while. Her pillow flooding in tears; the rage in her beautiful teary eyes was unmatched. She spoke with a soft devastated tone and so evident were rills of anguish through the venae cavae of her soft loving heart.
She was now a shadow of the strong revered Matilda we had all known two decades ago since our early schooldays. Her adorable self was now lost in a reverie downright the valley of depression. She felt used and dumped; she felt betrayed, “I gave him my everything, what did I do to deserve this?!” She cursed: tears rolling down her placid cheeks
“How could he sleep with Alicia: my best friend?” She sat away in graveyard silence, trying to complete the puzzle of what exactly she could have done wrong.
Where she could have lapsed; that bitch! How could she have stolen her man?! She wondered who to put to the sword; she was finally convinced she had done everything she could to keep the relationship blossoming.
“All men are dogs,” she now avers. A good-girl-gone-bad: Jumping from one hotel room to another, dating from politicians, businessmen, young corporates, up to the flashy city conmen.
She is a slay queen; she drives a Beemer; smokes weed and downs the strongest liquors. She is not the innocent lover-girl she was anymore: she swore never to let her heart be messed with again.
I wish she could take a chance on me, though. I wish I could convince her we are not all the same. I wish she could let me pick up the pieces and clean up the mess. I wish I could change her attitude. I am in love with sweet Matilda.