Winter moonlight

Somewhere amidst this insipid aridity, trying to bridge the bottomless waterway that would otherwise in time consume her soul, to more than merely stay afloat, the pursuit of such strength to get across, to cherish the idle solitude where the faint shadow of the rainbow arrayed a glimmer of hope, the serene surrounds brought to her a new apprehension of reality.

Battling with her mind and heart and the reluctant knowledge of the existence of no other viable justification and after much groping and scrabbling in the dark, around the dead end of this much acquainted cul-de-sac, which unfrequented by most, she realized the walk back would be in absolute solitary loneness while trying to get back on with the hustle and bustle, in track with them many strangers - a much vapid option.

Each step brought back to her little moments, incoherent in the harmony of order, but quaint and quintessential like the many bric-a-brac that grace the aristocratic baroque. To admire and revel in each one of them and with unshed tears, now flowing with much undesirable spontaneity to favour her tremulous turmoil and slowly but hesitantly, for the will to let go had let gone, pushing them away, and each resonating step resounding in a million echoes of the past telling a story of the future that would not be, caused emotions that were quicksanding her. Lost to her was all the resolve with which she naively believed to make the insurmountable preposterity possible.

Confined with herself, with the incarcerated ennui, there she sits, beneath the willow as she weeps gingerly, and each tear glistens, with a shimmer of grey, by the shine of the winter moonlight.