The process of first recognizing, then accepting, that the relationship was never going to be what she most wanted it to be drove Maria into an emotional abyss. Too tired, too angry, and just too fucking too to haul herself out of the pit, she stretched supine on its floor and wallowed in the muck of ennui. It sucked at her soul, and she knew she should divorce herself from it rather than continue to hope for change. Move on. Alone. Perhaps forever alone, or at least until she could scour the stain of such transient beauty from her skin.
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