Tiny reluctant smiles tiptoeing around closed doors, trying to stun the pensive visions that live inside. The visions sit, only brooding - over moments lived and unlived; over relationships lost and found; over things that had been, and things that will never be.
The hand of happiness tries to gently prise open, the blue-veined teary veils that keep her from seeing the untried chances, unmade choices, unyielding charms. All it feels is the cold gloom snaking over what once throbbed with a lively pulse of hope and the thrill of adventure.
The slimy gloom slithers and coils around the the weak, tired, trembling shadow of that heart of hers, asphyxiating her with the dread of unsaid loving words, unheard friendly whispers, unseen glimpses of togetherness...
The dread of being untouched by the sweet hand of passion; of being undone by fears that creep along the crevices of her mind, contaminating it with that diseased malignant grime of despair; of being unwanted despite her unhesitating brazen lips reaching out to kiss what she desires.
Flitting past the windows of her eyes shut tight, she senses the obvious but still cannot see. The past she gleefully lived and the moments her heart conjured are the stars and the moon spotting the blackness of her crazed see-sawing mind, teetering along the knife's edge.
To lose heart and to step over the precipice into gloom.... To live with hope and take the leap of faith.... She sways to the rhythm of frenzied practicality that blends with the tune of calculated insanity. The sounds and the smells of doom fill her senses, but in her mind's eye, she knows what she wants is what it will be.