The gloom of the day crept in and permeated her mood, a dark foul thing like the cloudy skies.  She wished she were one of the perpetually happy people.  Alas, that was never going to happen.  Could she make due with something less than obsession?  She was obsessed . . . obsessed with the pain hidden deep inside; obsessed with her needs; obsessed with finding a way, a path.  This was not a choice, rather a mandate.

 

She scowled at the menacing heavens, the cowled sun, the threat of rain.  No she wasn’t happy, not joyful, not blessed.  She harbored a shadow inside.  Her dirty, little secret so to speak . . . the specter she allowed residence.  This darkness holding captive her soul was impossible to fully conceal.  It leaked out around the edges of her quiet and reserved personae.  Most viewed the phantom as a sadness that scarred her perfect beauty.

 

The overcast only perpetuates the soft reflection of sorrow deep within her graying eyes.  Those windows of her soul, a flawless representation of the obscurity kept under wraps away from public viewing.  This distressing ghost of dusk setting haunted her spirit, her essence, her soul.   Wasn’t she more than this shade of fixation?  Was she not stronger than the mania welling up inside the center of her?

 

Suddenly the clouds broke and the sun escaped their grip.  Sunlight reached forth, caressing like a lover the contours of her face.  For a moment, she was set free, no compulsion tugging at her consciousness.  Her heart took flight in that instant, for that moment.  Then her unrelenting melancholy swelled as a wave on the ocean to break over her pulling her back into the gulf.  Such the battle that raged within, yet never breaching her surface calm.  Only the eyes, only there . . . any sign.

 

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