She fought everyone and everything. The Allied and Axis Powers combined could not stop her from loving him. Roosevelt, Patton, Hitler, Mussolini could kiss her ass. She gave her all and when she was short, she borrowed some. He was her King, she could never deny him. He couldn’t love her; he couldn’t choose her.
Maybe it was because she loved him so, her basket abundant with whatever he desired. He was full of excuses, pretext, and complexes. He was a victim of his fear, his insecurities; he was tied to hasty promises.
She was his mirror, sometimes they even looked akin. She understood the complexity of his mind, she was fluent in the lost language of his soul and held the key to unlock his best carnal pleasures. She was his flame which provided light when he lost his way and warmth when his world was unkind. Still, she wasn’t good enough for him.
He reminded her of her inadequacy every time he laid with her and denied her of his seed, leaving her barren womb aching, soul wounded with the realization that she would never bear his child – her greatest desire and the validation of his love she needed.
He wouldn’t choose her; she knew the path to redemption and glory, extending both hands to lead him but he found comfort and safety in his darkness. His peace contingent on the destruction of her love, it’s death guaranteeing his freedom.
And so, one ordinary Monday, he killed it and her. She didn’t fight as she felt herself slowly dying; she closed her eyes with resignation, finding peace in the knowledge she fought with all her might, her arsenal depleted.
She didn’t fight, her manicured hands held the figurative sword he had driven into her chest. He annihilated a loyal heart which beat just for him, destroying a love he will spend the rest of his days in search of.
Alas, the damage he caused finally broke her spirit and extinguished the flame she had gingerly protected for years. Her heart was shattered, the destruction irrevocable.
The Fourteen Year War came to an abrupt end in a matter of hours. The Warrior Princess fell, defeated, exhausted, blinded by hot, fat, familiar tears only he could evoke. She lost a War she never, ever had a chance at winning.
The King won…
Single in the Burbs 