She dances frenetically. The vodka has taken its toll and the surroundings are magic. The way people move, the music pumping, the best friend jumping around, the whole magic of Friday  night, where life doesn't seem so bad so anymore. The feeling that everything is going to be ok, the delusion of instant happiness, the short escape from reality. The lights in the dark and the genuine drunk smiles from the crowd. It's going to be ok.

A McDonald's, the bus ride, a little bit more of reality distortion, escape, escape, escape. Everything is going to be fine.

She comes to bed happy, satisfied with her careless behaviour, she's a woman, hear her roar on the dancefloor. Strong, bold, independent. Life's confused but it's just the turn of the wheel. She's hopeful and bright and beautiful and she's still got time even though society says she's not acting her age. All the emotional rubbish and charges and pressures stayed in the club, washed away in a temple of catharsis somewhere in South London.

She lies in bed still feeling the buzz, not worrying about a thing, too selfish to think of her family who worries about her wicked teenage ways. She's got a hangover and a vulnerable heart to take care of, her body used to only act towards her needs and desires. "One of these days I'm gonna change my evil ways", is what she's been humming to herself for years. It'll happen eventually.

Not tonight though. Tonight she just needed to cope, the  only way she knows how to. Everything else demands effort and the escape is not as intense. The delusion is  not as convincing. Hope takes its time to come along and sleep with her at night. There's no frenzy.

She logs in.

She is still strong enough not to stare at it. She is doing it right.Everything is going to be ok. She will forget and forgive, the pain will diminish with time, she will wish them well. She's a good person and shit happens. People come and people go. She'll let him go.

Not tonight. One of these days.

She stares at it. She stares  at the love declarations, she stares at the romantic lyrics, she stares at the poetry, she stares at the changed status. "In a relationship". She stares at the competitor's pictures, she stares at the competitor's blog, she stares at this girl's profile invading her former lover's life like a thunderbolt of unexplainingly intense love. She stares at this beautiful expression of two lonely souls who finally encountered each other and tries to understand. She tries to understand her role in this beastly act. Two weeks ago she was still the girlfriend. One month ago she was still the soulmate. Two months ago she was the wife-to-be.

She keeps staring at all this, knowing that she'll never get any answers and she'll never be able to fully understand. She stares and stares. It's not about love.Love loses its place among so much hurt. It becomes the most delusional factor of all, the one thing that will never get the hope's grasp. It's about treachery. It's about dishonesty. It's about disrespect. Love?She doesn't even know if that has ever existed, that might have been the biggest escape she's ever had.

It's about the intense throb in her heart when she reads a poem line. It's about the relentlessly churning stomach she's been having since the day she found out. It's about the severe sharp pain on her chest when she's on the tube and she remembers the songs the new couple has been posting to each other on their social networking site. It's about the fire that invades her skull when she thinks she was doing exactly the same thing two months ago. It's about the fear and despise she feels everytime someone flirts with her. It's about the horrendous pain that darkens her soul and her sight when she's going to work and she suddenly thinks about it.

It's not going to be ok. Not one of these days.