l'intermède finale

She was a sapoisexualist, or so she claimed. She liked people who had a ‘higher than average’ intellect. She got bored easily. Books, movies, work, things, People! As long as they held her interest, she stayed. Then she strayed. She was always on the lookout for newer, better things.She liked people who played hard to get. She liked challenges. She liked winning. It fed her ego.

And then he came along. And wrecked her life. She was impressed by his usage of words, his way of talking, and his attitude. She wanted to get noticed. She craved for his attention. She began to let go of her principles, one by one. Anything to catch his interest, anything to make him stay. Pleasing him became the motto of her life. He once said, I am scared you will destroy me. But he was destroying her, day by day and she did not even care.

‘Loving you was a mistake, but I am loving that mistake’ said he.

‘You are the mistake of my life’ chimed her mind.

It was like a rut she was stuck in. However hard she tried, she couldn’t climb out. Her dignity and pride were thrown out for a toss. Nothing else mattered. Winning him over did.

She still doesn't know whether she was way too trivial for him to take notice. He was way too complicated for her to comprehend. Like the ‘Game of Thrones’. She had tried to read the books, but slammed it shut because it was too complex, too many characters in a single plot. She couldn't go beyond a few pages. And then she stopped trying. Some books are like that. They make you feel like an idiot because you just don’t get it. But there’s nothing one can do about it.

She wanted to leave, but couldn't bring herself to do it.Was it her insatiable need for attention or her voracious ego, she wasn't able to figure out.

And one day she did. Holding tightly onto whatever pride left in her, she decided to end it all. She freed herself, from the words which held her there. All that was left were memories. She decided to keep them... until she made new ones. 

Little did she know he would leave a deep scar in her, in a way no one before him had. It hurt at times, and she was too conceited to admit that she was secretly proud of the scar.


"As promised. No Paris, No Barcelona.Only today.
Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero."