Solitude.

  She sits there on the couch with her long legs spread out, her skirt cascading around her. She sits there staring into thin air. Her face is vacant. Her big blue eyes normally filled with life seem dead, her face usually flushed pink is ghostly pale and her blonde her on any normal day frizzy hangs flat on her head. She sits there and she thinks. She thinks about the days of solitude. The days when all she had was herself. When she would walk into the woods and get lost. Or when she would sit on the rocking chair and talk to the ghosts, then she thinks about when she met him. How quietly he came into her life. How they decided to share their solitude together because it made it easier to bare. She thinks about how he left, almost as quietly as he came. She sighs as she thinks about all this. These are the sad thoughts, she's not supposed to remember them. Yet everyday she does. She stands up slowly, her blue eyes glancing around the room. Anywhere but her left arm which, is bleeding. And, everywhere put her right arm which too is bleeding and has been since this morning. The room is empty, the only thing other than the couch being a dusty window and a rocking chair. The same one from the solitude days. No longer than she has stood up does she sit down. She's interesting like this when it comes to decisions. She can't make them. As she sits there she closes her eyes. She knows that once she closes them they wll never be opened again. That she'll be stuck in an endless sleep, but she does just that. So she sits there knowing she has done all she ever wanted and all she ever needed to do. Knowing that she doesn't have to miss him anymore and knowing that it has ended the way it started, in solitude.