She sits down and without a moments end the tears of utter frustration bewilder her young skin.
Foolhardiness makes its home, the absence of desire.
Well known fact it is, that something is there, eating away at her soul.
The fake facade of smiles and happiness is getting old and worn out, harder and harder to hide the sheer dissatisfaction.
Watching the plain fields pass as if the tide in oceans and waters, a sigh wanders into the abyss.
This event avoided numerous times, even discarded with the thought that “this too shall pass.”
Something inside breaks, and the enlarged wave of constant suppression makes small drops
of warm water.
These walls are so cold, so white, so without life.
The pressure to fall silent is becoming quite the strain and as she is not
content with anything the thought of incompletion frightens her.
What if she is forever lost?
Lost in a world of confusion and never to fulfill the sense of security she so passionately
longs for.
Where do all the stories go? All the memories? All tears and laughter?
Is there purpose? And if so, does she create it?
Or does the defiance of tyranny suspect a victory?
This journey is long, and far, but it is one with great ambition.
Soft tears will again hide under the soft blanket of falsehood.
Morning will continue to come, and the sun with ironic pleasure will shine on.
This is the life and this is the time.
Leaves fall, flowers wither, and life diminishes.
This flower is growing slow, but strong.
Slow, but strong.
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