La luna



There were times, late at night, when she knew in the depths of her soul that she was a broken person. Sometimes she would emerge from the shower, throw herself onto the mattress, and as the air cooled the water on her skin and in her hair, the chill would seem to numb her sense of self. In these moments of disconnectedness, her thoughts took on a cold, computer-like pattern, and she would feel trapped, as if she were just a prisoner of her body and of her life. Surely she was meant to have been someone else; anyone, anything except herself, or maybe even nobody at all. These feelings of wrongness and illogic were so strong that it was impossible to believe otherwise, but then, slowly, the warmth would return to her body and she would be back, anchored firmly in the reality of her own existence once more. That was possibly the worst feeling of all.
She had lived with this all her life. As a young girl, she’d prayed often to the full moon to take her somewhere else: someplace where she belonged, where she could feel correct. She’d studied meditation and other techniques designed to free her from her shell, and into a more perfect form; all without success, leaving only growing disaffection with her existence…

tags: ariadne , photo

  • There's so much more. And maybe. Thank you!



  • That was captivating. Is there more to the story? Is it really a story at all?

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