So she sits #4



The final part (part 4) of some free writing, reflective poetry


She takes her time, for time is all she has.
Her escape always only a moment away,
That split second of a moment.
Good intentions.
Bad timing and good intentions cause a rift in where hope and hopelessness embrace.
Embrace. To hold. To be held.
To care and to sympathise.
How fondly she remembers the embrace,
And she sits.
Her thoughts embrace themselves, comfort-turned-contortion as they cascade over one another tightening and tangling their tangible torments.
Then a flicker. A glimmer. A wisp of hope.
As a hand extends towards her from the world.
And she sits.
Disengaged and disenchanted.
But hope has a hand in this now.
As she sits.

For the first time in years we notice her eyes.
So long a mask, now pure and piercing.
Into us. Into hope. Willing it on.
As she sits
The metamorphosis of her mind manifests itself before us, making memories move moments majestically into the mazes of her mind.
That hand holds hard as she looks up, the hope


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