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LOVE IS A PUPPETEER'S STRINGS.
Once a person falls in love, they hand you their heart, soul, and loyalty. They become your puppet—you can bend them, move them, change them. Love is such a dangerous thing that once you're aware that you're a puppet, it still takes time to get rid of your strings. Your puppeteer still has control over you.
Under a starry night, when it's cold, windy and wild, Gail is running without direction. She's been going in the north for a while, then east, south, west. She tries all directions but none of them gives her the comfort she seeks out. It's like her strings are pulling her back and the more she runs forward, trying to get rid of them, the more she gets hurt.
Her t-shirt—his t-shirt—is barely covering her legs. She freezes but she doesn't mind it, for it numbs her senses. She pauses suddenly when she can't catch her breath anymore and her legs are aching. She leans against a tree. When she stops running, the cold gets to her even worse. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she slowly slides down and sits on the ground.
When she stops, she starts thinking and when she starts thinking, she starts crying. Though she knows she'll lose her mind if she mulls over what's just happened, she can't help it. He is married. It feels so foreign in her mind. "He's married," she whispers in disbelief. It feels so heavy on her chest when she hears it aloud. She's been with a married man for months—she's been helping him cheat on his wife.
A part of her still wants to hear the truth from him but there is no explanation needed in this situation when it's crystal clear. He is legally married, and his wife came right to her feet to get an autograph signed for him—who the fuck does that? Do they have an open relationship? How can she stomach her presence? She rubs her hands over her arms when she feels too cold. Leaning her head against the bole, she shuts her eyes firmly and inhales.
