She'd have her periods of freedom and lust and total randomness, when she'd hide her sorrow behind a porcelane mask, until she'd almost come to regard that smiling face in the mirror as her one and only self- the flawless illusion disrupted only in rare moments of doubt and existential agony.
Then she'd fall in love and eagerly erase all trace of past frustration from memory; everything else receding in the background to make space for her one and only current obsession.
And when love began to fade, she'd refuse to acknowledge the fact- as you ignore an alarm clock sounding early in the morning, hiding your head under the pillows and struggling to pretend that the noise isn't there, you're still deeply asleep and lost in the sweetest of dreams. But the dream has already ended; it ended the moment you started to pretend.
She'd wake up, at last, wishing she was a ghost, longing for death or at least a deep dreamless sleep. Eventually she'd once again summon the strength needed to immerse herself into a life of quiet evenings and unexpected encounters and drunken late-night confessions and a consciousness, which requires no other half to feel complete.
So the cycle went on and on and on, solitude turning into loneliness, then back to solitude again...
Then she'd fall in love and eagerly erase all trace of past frustration from memory; everything else receding in the background to make space for her one and only current obsession.
And when love began to fade, she'd refuse to acknowledge the fact- as you ignore an alarm clock sounding early in the morning, hiding your head under the pillows and struggling to pretend that the noise isn't there, you're still deeply asleep and lost in the sweetest of dreams. But the dream has already ended; it ended the moment you started to pretend.
She'd wake up, at last, wishing she was a ghost, longing for death or at least a deep dreamless sleep. Eventually she'd once again summon the strength needed to immerse herself into a life of quiet evenings and unexpected encounters and drunken late-night confessions and a consciousness, which requires no other half to feel complete.
So the cycle went on and on and on, solitude turning into loneliness, then back to solitude again...
