Let us consider for a moment her tortured spirit. It twists and turns and tears her apart. She doesn’t remember the first time she felt the twisting and turning. It was always there, scarring the insides of her body and mind.
There are a few things that help ease this pain. Alcohol helped for a while but that causes its own damage. There were those years that she saw a doctor who helped her talk about her “feelings” but what was that other than just simply speaking? It wasn’t until she moved to her little farm that she found pure bliss and relaxation. Her days remained dark and painful but the thought of her garden path was motivation enough to make it through the struggle. Sometimes she even found herself laughing, a feeling she could barely remember.
A day came though, where the coming and going of life felt overwhelming. Her once beautiful reflection seemed tired and withdrawn. Her body felt like lead and her lungs felt as if they were rusted. The world around her seemed to carry on as usual, bustling and bursting with energy that she could no longer absorb. Heading home she could not help but notice the scratches and bruises present in all her thoughts.
On this day a walk along the beautiful green path was not enough to ease her tortured spirit. Calmness is a friend that can only visit for so long, eventually it overstays its welcome. Her feet go through the normal motions, one in front of the other along the path covered in fallen leaves. She feels her and the leaves are alike; fallen, beautiful and unnoticed. They crunch and crumble beneath the feet of those that walk over them. Set to gently disintegrate into dirt. This is what is expected of these leaves anyway.
The thing about leaves is that they have other abilities too. They burn, and when they light they set off a raging fire that spreads and ignites everything around them. Sometimes the strongest downpour cannot extinguish the turbulent flames. Bright embers threaten the feet that once crushed those leaves and even though it still ends in disintegration, they will take it all with them.
Left behind is a devastating memory drawn in charcoal; still beautiful, still fallen, noticed.
