Written by Jacob Ibrag

She carried herself over to the end of the hallway,

Her legs were numb and shaky. Instability seemed to

follow her these days. In a failed attempt to hold on to the

wall, She falls and embraces the position she was placed in.

Nothing made sense anymore. Lying in her own tears, One

memory seemed to be keeping her from falling apart. It was

the man in white, But it was his words that were drenched in

shadow. ‘Staying constant, that’s impossible. Every king loses

his crown sooner or later, What makes any of us any different?

Take the change and mold it into something, different.’ Traffic

of thought came to a halt. Her eyes opened, her teeth clenched,

Her heart skipped a few beats. Heavy tears running down her

skin, she wipes them off. A smirk appears, the air tastes sour

with a hint of mint. Walks, walks, walks to the room she

hates, but admires. Coming to the edge of reason,

she starts to laugh. Pulls her hair back. Puts

on her ballet slippers. Restart.

Painting By Stefan Kuhn

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