Arachne
Member
'The world we knew won't come back'
Who is she? I see her always sitting in the same place, below a large, big leaf Maple tree. The canopy of the leaves shelters her. From the rain somewhat, that pours upon the earth with a intensity unbridled. The woman's hair is damp, curling gently at the ends in ringlets, that drip with small crystalline sparkles of water filled droplets. Time weathered hands are cupped upon her face, the muffled sounds of sobbing permeating the forest that surrounds her. So sad is she that she does not notice the life that even, in the storm teams about her. Her long, lean legs are pulled close to her chest. As if to shield them from some unseen force.
I want to go to her, reach out, pull her close, shelter her from the storm that rages within her soul. But I cannot. Within her own private hell she is lost, traveling along a road of memories that swell up ready to swallow her whole. She is broken, not strong enough to see the new world that can be within grasp. On days like this the rain is a metaphor.. for the unhappiness that lives within her.
Her sobs grow stronger as she moves long fingers from her face. Rain drops now pummel her face, adding to the tears that are already drowning her.
I scream inside my own self.. "stop" I must go to her. I understand the darkness she feels. Consuming, choking, like ashes that block out the light. The immortal torment that rages in all of us. But most are able to fight against. I feel she has given up. The wounds don't seem to heal for this woman. She looks upon the scars that streak down her forearms, like a road map of unhappiness and shame. She tries so hard to tell herself that they are gone. Alas they are not. They are the wounds from years of unhappiness.
The rain eases, until only the gentle splatter, from leaf to leaf remains. The forest is drying and a golden stream appears, warming the coolness. Her blue eyes move, to view a puddle that has formed beside her. A drop hits the still water.. It forms a ripple that radiates, from one small ring to multiples, until it disappears. Much like she is feeling I would guess.
Her hearts searches within, for the meaning. She knows ripples never come back. They are formed, then they are gone, no two are a like. She begins to rise, her clothes are damp. She shakes them free and a small breeze gently helps to dry them. The pain is passing for now, like the rain storm has done .Still I wish to go to her and pull to me and take the pain forever away. But it is not my pain to take. She must fight it and that is a task only she can do. The sun now is warming the world around her. She looks again to the puddle of water, that now shrinks into the rich earth...for within her heart...
Who is she? I see her always sitting in the same place, below a large, big leaf Maple tree. The canopy of the leaves shelters her. From the rain somewhat, that pours upon the earth with a intensity unbridled. The woman's hair is damp, curling gently at the ends in ringlets, that drip with small crystalline sparkles of water filled droplets. Time weathered hands are cupped upon her face, the muffled sounds of sobbing permeating the forest that surrounds her. So sad is she that she does not notice the life that even, in the storm teams about her. Her long, lean legs are pulled close to her chest. As if to shield them from some unseen force.
I want to go to her, reach out, pull her close, shelter her from the storm that rages within her soul. But I cannot. Within her own private hell she is lost, traveling along a road of memories that swell up ready to swallow her whole. She is broken, not strong enough to see the new world that can be within grasp. On days like this the rain is a metaphor.. for the unhappiness that lives within her.
Her sobs grow stronger as she moves long fingers from her face. Rain drops now pummel her face, adding to the tears that are already drowning her.
I scream inside my own self.. "stop" I must go to her. I understand the darkness she feels. Consuming, choking, like ashes that block out the light. The immortal torment that rages in all of us. But most are able to fight against. I feel she has given up. The wounds don't seem to heal for this woman. She looks upon the scars that streak down her forearms, like a road map of unhappiness and shame. She tries so hard to tell herself that they are gone. Alas they are not. They are the wounds from years of unhappiness.
The rain eases, until only the gentle splatter, from leaf to leaf remains. The forest is drying and a golden stream appears, warming the coolness. Her blue eyes move, to view a puddle that has formed beside her. A drop hits the still water.. It forms a ripple that radiates, from one small ring to multiples, until it disappears. Much like she is feeling I would guess.
Her hearts searches within, for the meaning. She knows ripples never come back. They are formed, then they are gone, no two are a like. She begins to rise, her clothes are damp. She shakes them free and a small breeze gently helps to dry them. The pain is passing for now, like the rain storm has done .Still I wish to go to her and pull to me and take the pain forever away. But it is not my pain to take. She must fight it and that is a task only she can do. The sun now is warming the world around her. She looks again to the puddle of water, that now shrinks into the rich earth...for within her heart...
layful: