A widowed woman cries. The wind is bereft as well, for it was howling & licking the shutters like wind could feel pain. What for? Why did any of it matter? Why shall I be surprised when obviously one of us were going to die someday. It’s all dense. She reconciles. Her, she, she runs out into the deafening gale, she was once lovely, for they say contentedness & confidence make you beautiful. Now, the weary, lost soul has no place besides the wandering winds. They take her away, body & soul. Warm, Gray, sparkling eyes are now dull, lifeless marble. The widow‘s hair danced about her, like red flame desperately reaching for a taste of bliss.... yet never finding it. The wind hadn’t taken her away, for she & only she could be the sole protector of the very life she called her own. She’d fallen, she ran off the verge. Free soul, flying away from doomed body. At last, finally, finally freed. A note taped on her doorway read “There is only one purpose to life, living for certain things. If you are quite alone & discomforted, your life is otherwise meaningless. I should’ve never been alive, life shouldn’t exist. Against all odds it does..... The world has seized my lighthouse, I have less than nothing to live for.”
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