I Was Real

This is a mere idea for my story, I did not have near enough time to go through with it. For now, this is it

I don't understand  it, really. She had someone real, someone she could feel and touch and listen to, but she still prefered the countless clones, the pictures and the instant comfort. Something about the numbers keeps her secure, I think. She had someone who loved her, who genuinely cared about her, but now they know who she is. For the first time, she was able to look into someone else's eyes and see a future. I saw the love radiate from her skin when she said it, when she gazed at her newfound lover. Maybe this time, she would really know what it meant to care for someone. 

Her past was always the same; no respect, no dignity. She would talk to whomever she found, talking to several at a time just out of boredom. Night after hollow night she wasted her time on the pretty faces she saw online. The good angles, the perfect lighting, the breathtaking beauty. Yes, each one was painted and fake and dressed up, but it brought immediate pleasure... What was the problem? They did anything, everything, all just for her...

No conversation lasted further than the bedroom, they were all full of hints and fake romance. She knew none of these people loved her, but they told her so. Just the urge to tell them again and again she loved them too was enough. Her words were said again and again to so many people, repeated to the point of emptiness. For the benefit of the doubt, maybe she meant them the first time. Maybe on the day that she found real intimacy she looked into their eyes and admitted to true feelings from the heart. For a moment, everything seemed peace and warmth. She held their hand. She looked into real eyes, she took in the scent of a real person. For a second, it was okay. She was okay.

Could that not have been enough? It was plenty for them. They cared, they knew, they looked past her previous urges. Was that not enough for her? 

She replied. She replied to the clones, to the fakes, to her false hope. She knew it was probably wrong, she sensed she was needing their fake love less and less. If only she'd seen her comfort the entire time; her lover was waiting for her, every night and and morning. Would that not have been enough? 

Her secret left her heart, her lover knew. They were not enough, they could not satisfy. Her hidden lies tore them apart, and though she vowed to change and protested her love, the words were empty as ever. I wish them well, they're divided hearts still mourning. Was it not enough for her?