Widowed?

I think I've really done it this time, it feels as if I've widowed myself, if that is possible. I really think it is, making yourself a widow is indeed possible. Especially if your mind runs so wild that it takes control over everything. Including nail art and the love for diamonds and shoes. I thought I'd be flitting around like a, let me think, like a butterfly. But then many other things flit around and they're not so welcome as a butterfly. Can a girl chain herself? I thought not, but I think so. Can she go for it, risk everything and still be a butterfly? No, because everything has a consequence. Ready to pay the price? I guess so, and I'm not so sure I should so. Why is it that no matter how many times my mother said that chocolate was bad for me, I still loved the damn thing? Why is it that no matter how many people say that it's bad for me, I still love the damn thing? And I used to pride myself that love was never an issue. But perhaps it was. And it is.