escort

when the woman you love... and leave then turns into an escort, what do you do next?

is there a sort of blame you take on? in knowing she would not have become this had you acted like an anchor in her life?

or a sense of pride in you leaving her because this was all she could ever have become anyway.

in tossing the trash away. the baby and the bath water. the baby was also dirty was it not?

when the woman you loved... turns into an escort, trading her body for financial security could you still befriend her?

or even learn to love her again? would you rescue her from her self or leave her to her fate.

what do you do? when the woman you love, turns into an escort. what do you do next?

she's premium though, an escort not a prostitute who stands by the roadside, she's hired to give older men a taste of her youth never or rarely ever sleeping with them.

she's fancier now, travels out regularly, a brand new car, upgraded wardrobe, an apartment on the island and a house in her hometown.

when you return... to her and she's better than you left her, do you still want her back?

her eyes that twinkled so innocently when she gazed at you with utter pure love now glazed over.

when she smiles, it never reaches her eyes like it used to. she's greatly mellowed down in a way a strong Christian child has grown to be a distant atheist. in a sad way.

when she laughs it feels like an act, like a part of her does not trust you to know how she really sounds when she's happy so you hear the fake version instead.

when she stares at you and you feel the numbness radiate off her. do you still love her?

she she raises her glass to yours and you guys share a toast and she sips her wine slowly, do you remember? the first time you saw her drink something, sipping from a pure water nylon in her small college room and she's giggling, so unhinged, so raw, so real, so alive, you remember you took the pure water satchel from her and sipped right from the spot she was drinking from, noting she opened her water weirdly with her incisors. you took the water from her because how couldn't you? she was so alive and you wanted a taste from what was recharging her.

now as you watch her give her wine glass a little shake and inhale a bit, you want to smack the glass away from her. it seems like what is killing her, the act itself of being refine is representative of the bottle so you want to kick it away and rescue her from it. the person she's not become but parades as.

when she asks you what's wrong because you've stared at her glass for a full minute now, you miss her voice, it still sounds like her. but tired. the excitement she always spoke with is gone. she used to speed up her words, used to talk like she had a time limit and you were drawn to that, but now. she's slower. her "Are you sure you're okay?" takes so long to come out, it threatens tears to your eyes.

but are you sure you're okay?

when the woman you love and then leave turns into an escort, what do you do next?

are you okay?