She tosses to the right, to the left, onto her back, onto her stomach, and repeat. She couldn’t sleep. Her decision was on her mind…again.
How long had she know him? A week? What did it matter? She had gotten attached. She told herself she would move on quickly, but it was a lie. If only he really knew her thoughts; knew the answer she really wanted. But what she wanted didn’t matter, not anymore. The moment he did not wish to tell the woman about her, she knew he wasn’t attached like she was. She knew he would never hurt the fragile woman that probably had more to offer. She secretly wished he never let her go, but that’s exactly what he did. She stopped him from having to hurt anyone. Instead, she hurt herself. Now she lays in the bed, a bottle of wine occupies her stomach. She tosses to the right, she tosses to the left, onto her back, onto her stomach, and repeat.
She lays there, ready to give up on ever finding love.