03-17-2008, 01:18 AM
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Is there anything on the wide earth quite as absurd as a jealous woman? Her emotions are all torn asunder, one conflicting with the other, all incompatible, ironic, nonsensical. She still wants and still loves her man, despite her utter conviction that he is ready to leave her at the drop of a hat. The anger she ought to direct at him is turned elsewhere, at the interfering wench or at her own unworthy self. There is a great deal of confusion and hurt, and most of all, above all, is her complete inability to process logic and reason. Never mind what she knew of their love before; never mind the hundreds of times he's said "I love you" and meant it. Here, now, was square one all over again. Teenagers making heartfelt confessions in which they felt as exposed and vulnerable as newborn babes.[/html]
"The Queen might have crowned the bard a King among Kings, had she known if that was what he wanted." Flowery words, words laden with pitfalls and traps. Concealing words to hide her own emotions, as if the sobbing hadn't given away her pain tenfold already. She spoke softly, words barely above a whisper. After all, it was hard to speak when your throat was raw from tears. Suddenly, she gained a piece of courage or lost patience with the careful restraint they'd been displaying; or perhaps she couldn't stand the weight of the confession any longer. "I thought you didn't want me any more. I thought there was another..."
Another lady. Someone strong and graceful and beautiful. Someone without a huge family, with a simple and wholesome past. Someone better. And shouldn't he, who she cared for so dearly, shouldn't he be with the best?