BellisimaBelinda BeautyByBelinda

She marched across the parking lot with the confidence of a woman who absolutely knew where she was going. There it was. Her little white car. Waiting faithfully.

She pressed the unlock button.

Nothing.

“That’s odd,” Belinda thought. “She’s being dramatic today.”

She pressed it again. Then again. Then held the key fob up like it was a TV remote from 1998.

Still nothing.

Belinda sighed, grabbed the door handle, and gave it a determined tug.

Locked.

“Oh, now we’re playing games.”

She was just about to inspect the keyhole with the seriousness of a forensic detective when she happened to glance through the window.

There was… someone else’s handbag.

Someone else’s fluffy steering wheel cover.

Someone else’s life.

Belinda slowly looked around.

Her actual white car was parked two spaces away, quietly witnessing the entire performance like:

“I’m not with her.”

Belinda walked away pretending she had simply been “checking the security” of random vehicles.

Poetry sings of love and loss, Of tangled hearts and pathways crossed. Each verse a masterpiece of emotion, A tapestry woven with raw devotion.