writing

Vacancy

It was a beautiful violet evening. The sun closing its final curtain, sinking behind a row of cityscape, casting an uninvited silhouette of the skyline in one’s bedroom. And here, in the east, an unheard story of a woman weeping in the dark emerges.

Her soul’s grieving like a wounded kitten caught in a stormy rain. As if that was not enough, the quiet night greets her by ticking time off to nowhere. She is shivering with pools of sadness and regret. Her heart sprinting off towards the darkness and beads of sweat soon greeted her skin.

While reading and writing may heal some souls while drinking and wasting one’s life may heal others, one might begin to wonder what it would take to heal this poor woman’s grieving soul.

Perhaps a simple forgiveness to herself and accepting whatever that is bound to come which require an open heart is ought to do her some good…

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