Fallen From Grace

She was the most beautiful woman I knew, and growing up, I wanted to be just like her; I read the same books, did my hair the same way (when I was old enough) and wore her fashion castoffs as if they were hot off the Paris runways.

She was older - nearly ten years - but I never felt the age difference; she always treated me like we were in the same circles and I was supposed to be there.

The years passed and we remained close; I admired her outspoken, larger-than-life personality. She said all the things I was afraid to; and stuck up for me when I couldn't even stand up for myself. But somewhere along the way, the fabulous, fearless diva changed. Imperceptibly at first, little, inconsequential flaws. Accepting a slap here and there, when she used to be the fighter. Tolerating infidelity, when she used to have her pick of the litter.

Then the shoe fell; an outside child which he flaunted cruelly. I was sure that would be the last straw. The diva I knew wouldn't stand for that. But she did.

And then the other shoe fell; another outside child - with a different woman. I was certain she would leave this time; but she didn't. She accepted it as if it was her fate, as if she didn't think she was worth more.

She used to be my hero. When I grew up, I wanted to be just like her.

Now all I have is pity and sadness for the woman that used to be.