Some people think the grass is greener elsewhere. They are in a world of mirages and think they have chosen a horrible swamp or a hellish desert. They fail to see the oasis within. Anyone is better than their partner, their kindred spirit awaits somewhere else, surely. Anyone can be smarter, more beautiful, funnier, sexier, more generous. Of course they will be because their partner is drained and is at a loss, not knowing what else to do to be appreciated for once. The others do not have those worries, they are at their best moment and, knowingly or not, cast before their eyes a veil of perfect deception.
There is a sense of satisfaction in insulting the one at their side and going for the milk and honey that is just round the corner. I wonder, to those people, how is the search for their kindred spirit going? How does the continuous biting of sand feel like once the mirage dissapears? The scorching sensation during the day and the cold, cold nights with nobody to compliment them or love them like they once were loved? Nobody to call them beautiful? They may repeatedly run towards the shining crystal clear waters in the distance but it will always end the same way. Every time they take a plunge to refresh their skin and slake their perpetual thirst, burning sand will embrace them and snakes will hiss at their exhausted limbs.
How is the curvy lady that intrigued you with her naked tapestry and multiple piercings? How is the cheap Harley Quinn impersonator who actually looked like The Joker? Did her stupidity turn you on or was it her bigger tits in her peasant's figure? Her plain face? Her greedy blank soul? How is the biker who never loved you or gave a fuck about you but is still friends with you on social networks? Did her fake alternative image rock your boat? Her absent waist? Her narcissism? Her manufactured style and again, her deep plainness? What about the buck-toothed fuck monster you shagged in a public toilet? Such class. And yet, you go eww at the one who had feelings for you and was not a heartless bitch like them.
You might find willing vertical smiles galore. Most of them desperate or just going for fun. I, however, was not desperate and you meant the world to me once.
And yet, a piece of my heart might still be with you. You, who are nothing but a mirage yourself. I do not know why because I am starting to think nobody wants you. Why should I keep any trace of belief in you? Perhaps it is precisely because I do not believe in you. I see beyond the mirage, walk past the barren desolation and notice a small but very real puddle of water. I wonder if it will go dry soon.
And then I turn around in spite of it all, saying: "I hope sand rots your teeth. I hope the endless line of mirages breaks your spirit and makes you grieve as much as I have grieved. Keep chewing sand as your tongue burns."