she stared at the moon. it was a bright and dark night outside. the night air whispered kisses at her skin. she brushes the cold breeze with a sigh. how long will this take? she shakes her head in defeat. it is futile she muttered. what is the point of all this. she felt she was awakened from a deep slumber. but there was no kiss. there was no prince. there is only herself.
she takes her guitar and plucks a lost melody. she serenades no one. a waste. she sings sweetly from her kitchen window. it is no tower. it is her self-appointed prison.
the song comes back to her. she caresses the chords lovingly. her throat strains at the last few words. her eyes fixed intently at her reflection. so many empty kisses. the sighs she won't utter again.
her friend told her it will take a while for her to heal. it will take a while for her to feel alive again. for now she must exist on existence itself.
how long will this take?
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i've never been a chocoholic. these days i eat a lot of chocolates, go figure. sometimes it's sick how life throws these curve balls at your face. thank goodness for friends who i can talk to about anything, i mean ANYTHING. richard, is this why you eat a lot of chocolates, huh? after this post, i went to my bookshelf and hunted my little red book.
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