POWERless, she reluctantly retreats.

Deletes the post and swallows not only her pride, but the eight comments that inflated her ego with validation that he WAS “the one”.

She positions herself differently.  Dethrones herself, subconsciously. Walks through the relationship on eggshells and is careful not to capture special moments or even refer to them in status updates.

When they date, they take their turns in front of the camera.  He poses at the wishing well, while she photographs.  She poses at the wishing well, while he photographs.  When they do come together, its in between bedsheets.

He is careful now.  He spares long conversations and hand-holding except to get the angle right.

She watches from the sidelines.  The only thing she can do now is keep score. Tallying the number of times he walks through her door, the number of times he spends the night.  She waits for her moment. That special moment when she stands tall from the sidelines, called into play the most important position, his prize.  But his attention always wavers.

And that’s all she really wants, his attention. She craves it. And because she is starved, a bitter thing is sweet.

And so she loves, or better yet, she loathes being alone more than she loves. The former is stronger and has become the excuse, the reason why she won’t leave and her desperation makes him refuse to stay.



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