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Kay C., 29 Aug '12

The shadows stretch across the pavement, haunting and utterly lovely. Rubbing her thumb absently over the worn cover of her favourite novel as she walks, the girl looks up at the clouds, hair falling into her eyes. Streaks of red and gold are hanging dapper from above, a painting of unparalleled beauty that no artist can ever hope to imitate.

When does it all end?

Summer's wandering around the corner, she knows, the warmth teasing her fingertips. Flowers have yet to bloom, but hints of green are gently colouring the streets while the broken trees of winter seem to sigh, relenting with a quiet farewell to the harsh ice-cold of months past.

When does it all begin?

Her footsteps echo down the long, lonely road. She looks behind, she looks forward, and sees no one, sees nothing but the dark red and unfeeling gray of the concrete that surrounds her like a looming forest. It's overwhelming, suddenly.

When does it...

She stops.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stands in the middle of that road, taking in the comfortable silence. There're birds singing a disjointed melody she can't put to any tune she knows, and the sounds of cars that seem so far away. It's a road behind quiet buildings, in a sweet and achingly lonely area, and she knows.

There's no one for company, no one she can see. There's no one she recognises now, out in this neighbourhood that is hers, that is familiar and foreign all at once. How strange that a place she should know so well be so alien in this very moment, as if she is looking in a mirror at a world that is her own and yet not, that simultaneously belongs to her and is forever out of her grasp.

It's disconcerting.

When does the loneliness come full circle, and fulfillment begin?

The girl doesn't know.

Comments · 1

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  • Kay C. said...

    Written for a prompt: a long, lonely walk home.

    • Posted 10 years ago