He comes for Dinner…

For Years now he visits, haunts every evening. He visits and always says’ “Sorry”, staring into the blackness, sit still and don’t answer.
In her younger years, her life was extraordinary yet dangerous, no fear didn’t feel pain, a mind of blank canvass each time something happen. Though those assume her memory is said to be at the most minimum she remembers everything. A curtain to others, a disguise for those to think she is oblivious to everyday and past situations. Her hearing is said yet to be the most amplified sense, at times her neck hurts with sound yet is deaf in one of her ears. She can hear people talk about work, life, family, travel and worry.

All conversations are bubbles in her head. They float and repeat over and over again. Makes her lose her train of thought. Yet has no thoughts at all.
With sadder than the Niobean womb, and in the hollow of her breasts lye’s a tomb of content. Passed where there lay troubles a thing before nor sigh nor sound the war against her now has gone, all the winds are quiet as the sun and all water flows effortlessly.

Dinner is always served with the colour of blood the sweetness and aroma of the deepest and darkest secrets. Sworn to protect those who deserve nothing more than a burnt potato, she remains trapped in the sadness of unforeseen sight.

It will all make sense again…..