As she was sitting in Little Italy waiting for her Lasagna, her thoughts wandered. She wanted to put the blame on something or someone. Should she put on him? Or herself? Or some other thing like fate? A glass of red wine had just become less engaging. That didn’t stop her from taking a sip though.
She felt low, but “given how it ended, that’s expected” she thought. Why things get complicated? However hard she thought, whatever she felt was utterly simple which others are supposed to understand/accept. It was from her heart and it was pure, so it should be easy for others to comprehend. But they didn’t. That left her in dismay, in addition to the deep pain that she was feeling. She had even tried to explain to them, they wouldn’t listen. She felt as if she is locked in a room without an exit. She felt tortured.
Lasagna was served. She didn’t know whether to eat or to sip the red wine. She just kept staring at them for a long time.