In a big arm chair she rests. Gazing upon the world through hollow glass and cynical eyes. There are no marks, no signs it even happened as memories play back in an endless loop. What was so blurry seems so clear. Sometimes.
Wondering off in all directions, a heart torn, mind in pieces. Battling herself.
What has come of this, it must have a purpose, a greater reason for happening. She could have died in that moment. Yet the truck somersaulted across the snow bank and came to a stop passengers in tact.
A winkled page in the saga of HER. Blank pages rest beside, just waiting to be written. Her story is powerful. Her story is struggle.
Listen to her words. Hidden here between the lines. Take notes from her lessons but do not follow in her footprints. A road less traveled.