.She was wafting wistfully about, brushing the surface with her little, delicate feet
.She was crooning silently, mumbling incoherent words
Her dress, bloodstained and tattered, was hung loosely upon her shoulders. She was pretty, her beauty exquisitely breathtaking. Her curly hair was rimmed with fresh, jovial flowers, which were twinkling cheerfully from their perch. The contrast between her and the flowers was most wry and ironic - they were all she had never been able to be. While they blossomed, she was withering ruefully.l
She was neither sad nor crestfallen. She was emotionless. Her mind was unpreoccupied. Nor troubled or
.disturbed. She was serene and peaceful
She did not spare a moment to wonder where she was. Did not dedicate a fraction of a second to contemplate what she should do. She did not even stop for a moment to ask the most paramount, significant, fateful
.and crucial question of all: why people noticed her only when she was unnoticeable
.She was careless. She was lifeless. She was dead
.She was fading away to the vast expanse of obscurity
בכל הבלוגים
שם בלוג/בלוגר
כינוי:
FreeFairy