Madrid, Spain
She stared blankly at the park's fountain in front of her, which held drunken lovers only the night before. She had scoffed and gawked at their animalistic love, perfectly captivated by each other's beauty, on display for the whole world to see. They pawed at each other, their faces illuminated by the gentle moonlight, desperate to be released from the damp grasps of the clothing that separated their souls. She wondered in bewilderment at how foolish they were being, and the ease at which they didn't seem to care at all.
She had always been the girl with the broken heart; the victim of lust mistaken for love. She retreated from everyone around her, faster than she could even comprehend, and shut her heart away in a box, shielding it from the world whose only intention seemed to be to hurt her, to deceive her, to break her. She had had enough: the stiches on her heart were fragile, the threads thinning with every twinge of hope, every bruise of defeat.
She stared blankly at the park's fountain and saw a glimpse of the life she wanted to live flash before her: a drunk lover, a prisoner of animalistic love, perfectly captivated by her lover's beauty, on display for the whole world to see. A foolish soul who didn't seem to care at all, desperate to feel the brilliance of his soul inside of her. The girl who finally found love amidst the lust, deceit, and heartbreak. The girl who belonged to him just as much as he belonged to her.
