Strange how a simple countenance; a display, an air of care or compassion may so easily be interpreted as something very different. Yet, that is simply the way of it. The mind of a woman may often be a dangerous place to navigate.
I am a woman... I know.
It is not at all difficult a thing, to guile ones way into the vulnerable parts of the female psyche. One would hope the operator’s intentions in doing so would be filled with the utmost respect for the feminine catastrophe, but the question as to ‘intent’ remains a daily tribute to numerous past kingdoms fallen.
Dust to dust...
Blinking sleep from her eyes, the scent of fear is all about sapping away at her energy reserves; perhaps the hope of rest later during the morning – alas, no such a thing. Weariness pulls at the corners of her smile as her eyes display the counterfeit of a truth – a truth faded and yet echoes on and on from somewhere deep within a corridor long passed.
I need rest...
Dreams are wicked things. They are the bane of one’s existence and in due course will, we will find one day, become something easily removable from one’s life. (Over stated nonsense; pages of a ludicrous comic magazine, shredded and discarded simply because it has been found completely useless in its new existant state, as was its former!)
No thank you.
... nothing more to say...
