Like a dark, tragic novel, she knows her end. Excessively preoccupied with prestige, and vanity. She makes friends easily, but inevitably loses them all. One by one, they turn away, despised by her arrogance.
She claims a sense of entitlement, with her grandiosity behavior. Bears no empathy; her tears are fake, and her life is synthetic. She speaks of superior accomplishments, in the tales she tells – and envies those who own successes. But when she speaks kind words, do not be intrigued. Those words are merely her attempt to own you.
She has many fears, but the greatest is rejection. When I look into her eyes, I have no sentiment, am I a monster too.
As a child, her vanity was accepted; so common for the young to behave in a way that gives them the most attention. But past the age of 8, she did not become more realistic. I wonder about her parents. Which traumatic point did they push her passed? Poisonous words that put the blame on her. Did they mold her or destroy her?
A profound sadness fills the room, for a tragedy so deep.
Should I handle this one with the heart…
I do not claim to understand – what I know to be true.
© 2014 Maria Fokas