I know her. I know her exceptionally well; like the irritating song you hear on the radio everyday, the way you know every word of every line; every high note, every staggering chord that leaves ripping waves on your throat whenever you belt it out. I know her damn well – like how you voyeur your unknowing neighbor through your bedroom window; every move he makes, every chilly night when he would fuck different women on his king-sized bed; every itty-bitty detail of his white silky bed sheets filled with caffeine and other fuck-knows-what-else stains. I know her and yet I chose to be blinded by this crazy emotion. She’s one of those you’d rather dump face down in sewers but her evil ways makes her severely likeable that you try to deal with her shit each time she fucks you.
I know eventually she would come around. She’ll probably go out with all sorts of men; especially those who she incessantly ignored when we were still together. She will probably go out with her exes too, if she gets lucky. She will fuck them in public restrooms, in their cars, in dark alleys and in her bed – the very bed where we used to make love all day. She will madly have sex with these men just to suffice her need to be loved the way I’ve loved her. After raunchy rounds, she will leave them helpless and needy and obsessively craving for more.
(That and other fiendish tricks make her another super villain in pantyhose and see-thru lingerie.)
She’s like that and everybody knows it. It’s like if they were given a chance they would paint murals of her on every street corner just so I would have constant reminders of how heartless this bitch is. I know how cruel she is at times but I chose to lay a blind eye on it. Yea. How stupid of me.
I know her too well that I know there’s still a possibility for a divine transformation. But whenever she gets the chance to redeem herself and change for the better, there she goes again. With a different man fucking her life away.
Like sonnets, they will shower her with praises but my words won’t ever leave her ears and her heart forever. Someday, I know she will want me back. She will never forget me no matter who she goes out with and no one can ever love her like I did. Not even the coldest night can harden my heart. I am still hers and I will always be in love with her.
Too bad this award-winning statement never crossed the boundaries she has set between us and this only fits in a cheap romance novel that depicts how 'true' love can change you. This’ll just end up in a trashy movie script where ham actors and actresses try to put justice to my words but no one will ever get the tone right. No one will dare sit for one and a half hours to watch and wait for this part to flash on the screen. No, this won’t leave a mark not even on the last page of Hollywood’s records.
It scares me whenever I wake knowing that the sun awaits my every breath as Life plays out scenes in front of me, urging me to take part in it. The birds chirp a tune or two while everyone else below let out all sorts of sighs but they could care less about how we feel. They will just sing as they flap their little wings not knowing that in a few minutes, forks of lightning will erase them from the deceitful atmosphere.
Waking up tends to be more of a chore rather than a redeeming moment. No part of me is filled with anticipation unlike before. I’ve lost my knack for new beginnings and walking under the sky doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. No feeling of enlightenment or whatsoever. Just a normal, dragging day for someone half-empty as me. I have never been this depressed in my 20+ years of existence. It was like I lost a huge chunk of my soul and half of my body is gradually burning each time she takes a step farther from me.
Well. That was before I decided to kill her.
Yes, I won’t deny the fact that I have loved her more than my ego could handle but who would’ve thought that this very love I swore to be true will transform into something fatal and sinister? Not my fault, I’m telling you. Ask her. That is if her corpse can talk.
