Weakness of will, lack of self-control; acting against one’s better judgment
If someone had told her a few months ago who she would face today, she would have declared that person insane.
People like me don’t meet people like him, she would have said. Not in this city. Not in this life. People like me only read about people like him, she would’ve claimed. They see them on TV-- erratic villains, their urge to do harm deeply embedded in their flesh, poisonous to everyone who dared to come too close. Intoxicating for those with a weak mind.
People like him simply don’t exist in her world.
People like her aren’t prepared for a roller coaster with a drop that steep, the avalanche, the blazing fury fueled by darkness, despair; the slightest flicker extinguished by a cold, choking hand, by sadness and mistrust.
A concoction she made herself swallow, the stinging pain it caused in her throat embalmed by her naive wish to make a change in this small world of hers, wading through the thick, black water to reach his.
But for what, she asks herself as she wades through the tarry mass. For what, she asks herself again when the color fades, leaving behind a white canvas with red speckles across the cracking surface. As her tired legs give way, there she is, kneeling on the damp ground with only one question ringing in her ears; How did we get here?