Never mind her 2-inch high heels. The evening breeze is worthy of a solitary walk in the park, she thought.
The grass is dry, but her wrinkled shirt is drenched.
As she creeps into the shadows of the colossal trees, she realizes no one can see her tears, and the inconsiderate crickets chatting noisily in the bushes will drown her cries anyway.
She allows her tears to flow.
Earlier that day, she heard about the death of a person, affiliated to her only thru an Employer. She whispered a silent prayer under her breath, only to feel a tad ridiculous thereafter. I don’t even know her, and I don’t even care about 75% of the people I currently know. What the fuck am I doing? She questioned herself.
She questions a lot. Not all questions were answered. Not all questions required answers. She fears that one day, fatigue would get the better of her, and she will stop questioning. Already, she feels fatigue biting into her bones. But she walks on.
She reaches the end of the park, where the sea meets, glistening against the moonlight. Or is it from the chain of lampposts scattered systematically along the path? She isn’t too sure. She isn’t too buggered.
With not a soul in sight, she ponders if it was appropriate to interrupt the silent eloquence of the night with her screams. She opens her mouth momentarily before pressing her cracked lips back together.
She realizes that there isn’t a point releasing her emotions, if there isn’t anyone there to hear her screams.
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- August 1, 2007 / 12:44 am
- The Dark One