Tuesday, July 2, 2013


This evening's cravat is the textured narrow striper of pewtered blue and dark turquoise.  All the days seemed the same to her; indeed, they were.  She kept the curtains drawn in all the rooms, she rarely ventured out of bed, and she ignored the phone.  Her headache was a constant companion, for she rarely ate but often cried.  Sometimes the sobs were soft and mostly tears.  Other times she gave in to the grief entirely, and huge wails wracked her body and her soul.  She moaned her loss and sank into her darkness so completely that she could see nothing of herself, nothing of who she was, and nothing of who she would ever be without them.