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Perhaps you met someone deep within, passed one during a solitary march through the depths of that forest, surrounded by the darkness even in the light. A nymph, drawn to the light of your eyes – in your careful blinks, you’d send morse-code messages to whomever could understand. She would listen, hold your head in her pale lap, her white dress of lightest silk.
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She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally, decided to walk through the door. I watched as she left my house. Finally,…
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Pearl earrings, she decided. Standing at the round porcelain sink, in a long sequin gown, the ends of her thick auburn hair brushing against her shoulders, nearly prepared to emerge onto the upper deck. Now she was alone, cramped into ten square feet of half a bath; it listed, side to side. By now, though, she hardly took notice.
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She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door. It was built with three cracking wood beams and mounted on a step of concrete blocks. The prayers hissed out as she clung to each of their words, relying on their power to change the fate of what lay beyond the rosewood barricade.
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