A child's play
I heard the news through a close friend. The words shattering my innermost world. Arms around her shoulders in plain daylight, backgrounds of matching pictures. She was one like me. She held my past, and my accent. But we held wildly different futures. I got confirmations. Explanations. Descriptions. Way beyond my will. I asked for it, without knowing what awaited for me. That you chose her, even though you didn't want her. You signed a contract. You packed your bags, and got up and left the country. You got hotel rooms, beautiful sceneries, birthday balloons above your head. And I just watched it happen. Trying not to give an ounce of judgement, and holding myself from withering away in darkness. Had you chosen her? You traveled far, and long. You took your tear-sprinkled sweater, and you sold out what I had asked for free, with love as a currency. But what you wanted was material and very countable, albeit an uncountable noun. Somehow, you did chose her. With her contracts, mans...