Baby am not made of stone it hurts….Loving you the way i do, it hurts… when all thats left to do is watch it burns….

Her body twirled around with and against Emeli Sandes Hurt, out of sync actually, accompanied by her tone deaf voice. Two left feet and tone deaf are not qualities to be proud of, but they are not qualities to note when all you want to do is drown in a world of your own. Her arms moved around in no organized formation, her feet tapping on the ground to her disorganized rhythm and her tone deaf voice wrung out her pain, hoping to let it all out to the world, maybe, and yet no one in particular. An outsider would wonder why such a beautiful song would be turned into a witchs ritual dance.

Heck she would not care about an outsider when she was lost in her solitude. A solitude bugged by memories that she hoped to dance off. Memories that she hoped would not plague her when her head touches the pillow. Memories that shredded her every being and still shred her even as she danced. The twirls and taps turned intense and the music faded into the background as she was reminded of his blank look. Of the morning that he sat there and uttered the most ridiculous thing she ever heard. Of the day she tapped off from her work and logged into social media and encounter an engagement announcement. Of the unimaginable pain, like a knife cruelly, slowly and deliberately slicing her heart into bits.

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