The stairs grumbled and sighed in protest.
Now the stocking hung, she wistfully watched
The dying embers take their last breaths.
Death called out like a panacea, however,
Reconciliation lay in Time's hand alone.
With morning came, excited voices
Sitting by the window seat, the sun shining on my face, I wanted to tell someone how the clouds reminded me of cotton, of perhaps what heaven looked like, of how I wished I could jump from one to another, of what I dreamed and thought about. I wanted to explain how the light shining down on me made me feel different, special, how that one cloud looked like Dory from Finding Nemo, how whenever I travel I play out the scenario of a plane crash in my head, how I've felt the last few days, my hopes for the next few days, my inhibitions and worries, how my heart is breaking and no-one knows.
Sitting by the window seat, I also realised that I had noone to tell them to.