It’s fast approaching midnight and she’s fast approaching breaking point. She has become hard in her fair softness. Sensitive and nurturing but now she’s Teflon coated, she had to protect herself somehow. Soaked up all the giggles and now her humour has gone dry, she’s dark now. Dark and brittle and desperate.
She lives alone with want for company. Her home is small and overgrown, wild flowers and weeds plaguing her garden. Filled to the brim with lovelorn trinkets and flowers like a gypsies caravan. Incense burning incessantly, filling the cottage with heavily scented smoke. It’s like an opium den in here, you’d half expect nearly naked oriental women to sate your aching mind and lull you into unconsciousness with their poppies.
Art from every era, encompassing every style hangs crookedly on her walls. You want to reach out and tap, tap, tap that frame back into level but you’re afraid you’ll bring the ceiling down with any alteration. Bookshelves and shelves made of books line every wall and surround vintage furniture. Her crockery is happily mismatched, her knives and forks are all unique. No two things are the same in her home, it’s like looking into an antique bazaar. Tip-toeing amongst the old world, careful not to knock that multimillion dollar lamp and break it like her will to live.
She’s wrapped in her favourite duvet cradling herself on an old chesterfield sofa. Day old tea cup and saucer lost in a sea of newspaper clippings, candles and rose petals. Lost in thousand year old memories, tears welling in her big, blue eyes. Flashes of past lives and long lost thoughts coming hard and fast like a heard of wild horses charging over the earth and away from some threat. She’s threatened by the world and she sobs, quivering.
Timidly she steps between boxes and bundles, over fabric and feathers until she emerges into the sunlight. Turning her faux innocence toward the kissing rays she inhales as though her life depended on it, in some way it sort of did. This was the first breath of air she had breathed in what seemed like years, she had been suffocating and eroding silently. Tucked away in her tangible, visible madness.
The wind musses her hair like the loving brother she never had and whispers hope into her pointed ears. You will be okay. You will live to see another day, for better or for worse. Simpering cries, tears rolling, streaming now, absolutely torrential. Flooding the earth beneath her unclad toes she can feel the dirt turning to mud, grounding her, forcing her hand at life. Life is for living, she declares, until death do us part–