  She takes a nap but the sun keeps on shining and she’s paralyzed by the pain in the back of her eyes’ sockets. Rising up she reaches the small vase by her bed takes out trinkets of faith, admires the soothing effect they give her. Going down she tries to weed the garden where a huge hole of absence femininity lies. She misses talking to him. He lies somewhere in the quiet house. When past things don’t get magnify a thousand times their necks are not s t r e t c h i n g. Copyright 1998 by Serenity 
