She had always known she was a fool.  She had come to recognize her tendency to leap before looking.  She was impulsive, and she did what she felt.  And when she felt differently, she did differently.  She acted in the moment, and when the moment passed, she acted again.  She was a rollercoaster.  She had come to expect that.  She didn’t know how to be anything else.

So she knew she was a fool.  But now, she realized, she was twice the fool—yes, it was that bad—not because she jumped in, but rather because she stayed.  It was a curse, her inability to let go.  In choosing constancy over change, she had taken dissatisfaction over solitude.  And though solitude was subject to the very change she renounced, she found dissatisfaction a much more permanent and unhappy state.

She had taken the tears, the frustration, the disappointment and neglect.  She had taken all the discontent of the familiar to keep at bay the unknown.  She had been the very saddest fool.

But she was done with that.




It turns out, he was the bigger fool.


About Nicole Fuhrman

I like run-ons. And as a former Language Arts teacher, I should be appalled. But I teach Science now, so it's ok. Oh, I also like to start sentences with conjunctions. NBD.
This entry was posted in Fiction, Relationships, Short Stories, Stories and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Fool

  1. Is this part of a book?

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