It was easy to hate her. She was mean and loud and obnoxious and pure evil. But it was easier to fall in love with her. She was sweet and smart and sexy and pure good. In the end though I saw her for what she truly is: a puppet.
She was a puppet dancing on a string, led by fate's cruel hand. She beguiled with a single glance, ensnared with a single word, captured hearts with a bat of an eye. She couldn't help being what she was, it was her curse. I was simply one of the many in her web of lies, of deceit. She fooled me like she fools everyone, I believed her to be everything I could want, everything I could need, I was wrong.
People make mistakes every single day. But the kind of mistakes that ruins lives, destroys friendships, obliterates happiness, those happen few and far between. It doesn't happen in a moment, in a split second, in a heartbeat. No, it happens gradually, slowly, so subtle you don't notice until it knocks you down on your backside, and even then you need a firm kick to the crotch to acknowledge it's real. And that's when she strikes.
I'm sure she wasn't always like this, she wasn't always the heart breaker she is now, something must have happened. She must have had her own heart broken, she must have suffered some terrible loss, must have experienced some tragedy to have made her the cruel woman she is today. See, even after she wrenched my beating heart out of my chest, even after she squeezed all the life out of it, even after she turned it all to dust, I still love her.
That's her curse, to be loved and never able to feel it, never able to see it, never able to know it's there.