Entry 3/26/09--Nerves

3/26/20091

There she stood--I stood--wringing her hands in discontent. Every last morsel of hope floating in zero gravity away from her outstretched hand, as eyes remained open-wide and agape. I looked into the mirror to see a vision of mascara. My painted eyes had wept as though to paint vertical and curved lines across my soft, pale skin. Rose was the color of what the tears had touched, as though the escape of sadness was warming to the skin, heart, and soul. However, a sunken heart was barely visible from within the caves of what once were eyes. My own eyes became orbs of hope, betrayal, and distrust. Wishing for a change and for exciting news, none came. Death of a loved one only scorched another piece of heart as the betrayal by another only crushed the remnants. Oh, but to walk away from life's reflections is what the soul needs. To rush off into the wilderness where no soul can hurt you but that of your own imagination. Thus, she stands at the bus stop on the corner of Carroll and Lucinda Avenues. She waits for the jungle to take her to a new life where none can touch her--where hope is attainable if success is your dream. Wringing her hands in pure nervousness, she sways to the hum of city streets. Her old mask, now unwrapping itself from her face as though the city lights bring some contentment to the life of a stranger to all. A new life, a new world, and new dreams await, if only you wring your hands enough to find that home is your true desire, and your true home is in chaos. After all, chaos is the ability to see multiple perspectives, choose your own route, and slowly start piecing together the puzzle of life.