Wednesday, 24 August 2016

The Withering Flower

She often wishes to write about the pain that no longer distresses. The pain that still lives, manifests at times as a void or a vacuum in the mind and at times, as a hilarious entity. It kills though; a little everyday. Like a slow acting poison, like the errors in the DNA accumulating over a period of time. An indifference has seeped in. Initially, it was a defense mechanism against the ache but now it has grown to engulf life itself. She is neither happy nor sad. There is no chaos, no peace. Autumn is here. Soon the winter will come in.

1 comment:

  1. and soon spring and summer shall follow..
    B

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