Why is it that mornings are becoming least and least interesting as each day goes by? She was thinking to herself: How long can people last to endure its sweet repulsiveness? The traffic jams are no more than lullabies to a listless soul, the crowded walkways in the piazza where countless human stink – at least on a glorified level – amalgamate to enthrall your still sleeping wits.
Another day of cold battle, she thought to herself as she made her way [still] giddily to the bathroom. If only she could wash out all that has transpired the previous day and the day before that – if only it’s as simple as that, then maybe life would still be the rainbow-colored realm her childhood has instilled upon her. Or what if these childhood memories are not that even sweet and her subconscious is just trying to keep cover of the hurtful ones? Ah, that is just some lame thought that is being played upon by a sensibility that’s lost and prowled upon by life – the miserable one.
What would it take to regain what was there – that tiny spark of hope, that craving for triumph and the bidding to stay afloat no matter how strong the current goes? What was there was gone the moment her feet took her to the pits of this burning hell; a chaos of the realm – the underworld of the tangible. She had the time to turn back before it gobbled her up whole. She was mystified.
What is that sadness behind her eyes?
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