Sometimes I don’t know if life is a random sequence of events or a novel carefully orchestrated by an anonymous writer
who
narrates
his story
in
the third person, and titles his
œuvre in the first.
An honest man who became a villain or a villain who needed the correct set of circumstances to emerge free of his delusion.
Still, an innocent soul was lost, and he shed a tear, a tear that fooled me for a moment,
but no…
indeed he was a villain after all,
and she
deserved better.
