She couldn't always put a name to what she was feeling. Her life was good; happy. By many means of measurement, She had nothing to complain about. She had a good job that might matter to someone with good friends who made everything seem wonderful. She had good friends that were always there for her if she ever called; She didn't, often. She had wonderful family who showed her all of the different ways of being in the world and the joys that could be had. She had all that she needed to live a comfortable life with relative meaning. And yet … She could not help but think that it might not be enough.
She looked out her window at the ever darkening sky with lights being lit for those who might be traveling like a twinkle of possible lives and adventures that could be lived. She could look into softening light like a fortune teller who looks into her crystal ball. She heard the echoes of lives that She could have lived, the people she could have met, the people she could have been if her story had gone a different way. These echoes were loudest in the stillness of coming night, when life could no longer serve as a distraction. Even during the day, however, "life" was not able to drown out the echoes of lives that could be lived. The subtlety had begun to shake the foundation of the life that She had inadvertently built.
She knew that she could not leave, but how could she stay? At times she enjoyed the invisible chains that bound her to this life and yet, alone, stripped of all apparitions, she wished for a corporal life that she could embrace. She had hope that one day her phantasms might solidify into the life she thought she was working for. It was all she had now, wandering through these shadows hoping her convictions might solidify them into being. She had faith but still sat, in front of that window, watching the images of lives not lived pass through astral plains, trying to name that which no one had yet been able to adequately label.
She looked out her window at the ever darkening sky with lights being lit for those who might be traveling like a twinkle of possible lives and adventures that could be lived. She could look into softening light like a fortune teller who looks into her crystal ball. She heard the echoes of lives that She could have lived, the people she could have met, the people she could have been if her story had gone a different way. These echoes were loudest in the stillness of coming night, when life could no longer serve as a distraction. Even during the day, however, "life" was not able to drown out the echoes of lives that could be lived. The subtlety had begun to shake the foundation of the life that She had inadvertently built.
She knew that she could not leave, but how could she stay? At times she enjoyed the invisible chains that bound her to this life and yet, alone, stripped of all apparitions, she wished for a corporal life that she could embrace. She had hope that one day her phantasms might solidify into the life she thought she was working for. It was all she had now, wandering through these shadows hoping her convictions might solidify them into being. She had faith but still sat, in front of that window, watching the images of lives not lived pass through astral plains, trying to name that which no one had yet been able to adequately label.
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