Her Postcard Journeys

The lady sits in her chamber. Dressed in a marvelous satin blue, she sits steadily, watching the moon with eyes searching for answers and a heart searching to be desired. The air is different tonight, it is much heavier, yet it feels much emptier; the clouds are still and the birds have flown back to their homes. The lady is tired. She has been awake crying.

At the age of ten, the death of her parents caged her childhood with responsibility. A bed-time kiss. A lollipop. Birthday balloons. These are the things she hears, but does not understand. No kisses, no candy, no stories, no dreams, no cake. Just important things, like work and money.

"In the light of the sun,
Is there anyone?
Oh dear you look so lost,
Eyes are red and tears are shed,
This world you must've crossed

You said...
You don't know me, You don't even care,
You don't know me, You don't wear my chains."

With the help of whiskey, she tries to recollect her thoughts. In her mind, she is in her summer dress, strong and ready; checking her bags for towels, pressing her dress ends, sweeping her hair back and looking at her self in the mirror. She is ready for her next escape. Where is it this time? Where to you say? The lady goes on these postcard journeys frequently, finding forgotten comfort in unfamiliarity and lost freedom in undiscovered tapestries.

So, who is she? What is her name? Her namelessness is her nobility, and her story an identity. This story is not a fairy tale where it has a happy ending, the ending itself is still a mystery, even to me, the storyteller. But maybe it is in absence that everything flowers and in weakness that she would find strength. Until she finds her answer, I can only stand watch and in my heart, I mummer a quiet prayer.

I bid you farewell, lady. Please take of yourself.
When you'll return, I do not know, but I just want to let you know that I love you.
And I'll wait for you. But promise me you won't leave us behind.