A Perfect Circle

She still says his name.
Rationality is inevitably overcome by the bruised heart in the end.
Rejected.
Abandoned.
Forlorn.
Bereft.
She pines for a mystery that will never be solved.
She yearns for the culmination that will forever be out of her reach.
She questions her sanity.
Was it ever real?
Was it some sort of twisted game?
Was she so blinded by her own desperate hope that she was unable to see the truth?
Questions.
Endlessly churning in her frayed mind.
Crushing defeat lays heavy on her heart.
Her traitorous foolish heart.
Carved from her chest and torn asunder on the floor.
Black bloody pulp unworthy of love.
Unworthy.
Disappointment.
Bad girl.
Stupid foolish girl.
And yet, at the end of the night in the quiet before dawn she says his name.
In that deep dark place where shadows twist and lovers writhe.
His name ever dances on the tip of her tongue.