Paths...

Stairways.

Passageways.
Hallways.

His ways.

Twisting. 

Turning.

Folding.

He had turned her mind in to an Escher painting

No matter what she thought of

All roads led back to him.

She swore again and again and again

That she would let him go

Would move on.

Then the path

Would turn and twist and wind

And she would be right back where she started.

No plans to be here.

No reason to be thinking of him.

And yet, here she was again. Twisted. Turned. Flipped.

He let her go. He moved on. He left. Gone.

She stayed. She held on. Twisting.

She was stuck here.

Make a list! Make a plan! Don't think of him!

Did you know that there is no don't?
Don't means do.

Don't think of the elephant.
What are you really thinking of now?

Damn the elephant anyway. Why won't he move?

He did this to her.
He left her with no way out of the trap.

M.C. Escher stairways of memory turning on themselves.

Why did he get to move on when she couldn't?

How did he find the path out?

Where could she go?

What could she think?

Why couldn't she see the way?

Did he know all paths would lead back to him?

Stairways.

Passageways.
Hallways.

His ways.

Twisting. 

Turning.

Folding.