Member-only story
As individuals, we have grown up to be so by ourselves, liking the time spent in adding meaning to our daily existence that any kind of encroachment on this personal space induces a reluctance to interact, a reluctance which borders on repulsion. This form of independence of thought, space, and time, I know not, whether is the way to search for meaning but it certainly is life-affirming. Any further attempt to expand thereupon would undermine the brevity of thought of the two lines. This thought ends here.
So hurt she was by all that had transpired that every time she subconsciously tried to try again she felt like she was playing with fire. Heart-breaks can be a nasty business. Trying again puts you in a world of uncertainty, predictability and anticipation. To deal with this one requires courage, perhaps she had lost all of hers, it requires patience, maybe patience was her shield against the realities of her daily life, it requires hope and as we know she had lost all of hers, a long time ago.
Did she want to try again and feel? She wished she knew. Her spirit had aged and it had become numb. It would require more than an answer for her to become one again. It would need reconstruction. She would have to be built again. From scratch. And that takes time.
So she taps into her reservoir of patience and places herself before all else. For once, justice shall be done. For once, the world will get it right. And if the price to pay is to be by herself, then this thought ends here.
