Thursday, February 27, 2014
This evening Brian Williams wears a cravat of dusky violet with widely spaced charcoal stripes. She caught the last ferry out even though that wasn't the plan, originally. Nothing, actually, had been according to plan, and she fought to discern exactly what she was feeling. Anger, yes, plenty of anger, but the choking desire to cry betrayed her sadness. And shame? Or was it self-loathing--no, not that strong--but simple embarrassment. She had been stupid and blind and naive and vulnerable. Staring mutely at the skyline, she watched as the sun abdicated its dominion to night's purple shadow, the darkening clouds shrouding the light.
Brought to Life by Nance at 11:57 PM