Dream story

There's no way of telling where is it that she's walking to. Her pace, un-paced, her movements, jerky, her breathing, erratic, her figure, jagged. She still walked. All she did was walk and think about the pointlessness of the landscape. With her clumsy movements she carried on down the path in the field, one of those old paths created by too many people walking through them. Years, no, decades showed in her fragile wrinkly hands. They still touched nothing, caressed nothing. Ages of the universe reflected in the freckles, but still, she resounded like a shell. Her eyes, a foolish glaze, her gaze, indifferent... She doesn't even need curiosity. She smells grey. She smells inhuman. She walks pointlessly because she can't find anyone to give her answers. She breathes in the past and breathes out intentions, bad intentions sometimes. She's a ghost. She's nobody. She's everybody. She is a young woman physically, she remembers. She tries to feel something, anything. She makes a tea in her mind. She spins and spins in circles as she makes a cup of tea in her mind. She stops. She breaks the cup. She breaks herself. She's numb. She can't remember how to make her heart beat again. She's not lost, she's bored, whispers the wind. She's bored of nature, she's bored of herself. She fell asleep dreading and wondering what it would be like to loose all love. The warm fussy love that feels so real that flickers like a candle or roars up in flames, all inside your heart. She's in dream world, she walks and she's feeling it. She knows she's limbo without love. This would be it, her without love. Pointless. A shadow of a reflection, wandering not wondering, straying, empty and shifting. All she does is wish she wasn't there, she wishes hard she wasn't there. She's having a nightmare. There would be nothing without love................ she wakes up. Its ok, she wakes up.