An strange and beautiful piece, an internal monologue of the woman of today.
Days after days, nights after nights, after each of the everyday’s , the cycle repeated itself. She died a little each day, every day during the daylight, while the sun shone outside. Somehow, it failed to rain its magic on her. But, even with those drooping eyelids, she loaded herself on caffeine just to feel the pulse of the moment with the night breeze chilling her feet, for, the night was all she owned.
Uniquely, seductively, she sat, aware; rather more than aware of the realities that existed beyond the one corner of the room she called her booth. Just for that cubicle, she’d forget it all. And with each passing day, the spell of the night grew on her, consuming her within its arms. The trance she created with its aid brought her closer to those hours which she waited for, lived for, and did everything in her power…
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