It’s almost a self-fulfilling prophecy.

One who is a fully spontanteous being (some say too spontaneous)

One who thinks lesser of herself, an otherwise perfect being

They say timing is everything…

It couldn’t be more true.

Fear on the spontaneous is a combustible substance,

One that could drive her to actions beyond reason

And a Lifetime of injustification

With herself as her cruelest judge, and the other as a non-forgiving being

Despite that point of realization,

When she gave all up in spite of herself,

When she swallowed her pride, presented herself as she should be

(and sometimes not)

She tried to be present, to be there at every momentous point of her career.

Admitted her mistakes, broke down many a time

Aware that she was brainwashed to doubt true love, to play, to believe

In the farce of forever.

The irony was that it was always too late.

For her and for her soulmate.

And then she didn’t know.

She didn’t know better,

And she didn’t know for sure.

The only barricades were the certainties around her.


Those in denial, but of the truest heart but unable to understand.

And that she committed herself to.

And to be sure she was financially capable to do so.

As a result, she went inward.

The one that could open her up was the ones she wished didn’t.

The one she wished for didn’t respond.

And then she was alone.

And all of a sudden, when she thought there was the slightest bit of hope…

She was faced with the opposite. Going Mad. With Men.

Desperate for being stupid and silly,

Drunk with past follies,

For thinking just being would be good enough.

At the end, the prophecy is true.

We all compromise.

We create a social construct of perfection.

But really, the truth is,

She thinks of her often.

Too often.

And dreams of a bandaid that will forever heal all wounds.

With hope,

That for someone else out there,

Soutmates can indeed be together.

When you have ever let someone down,

You will make it your mission to never repeat the mistake.

Even at your own expense.

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