Raised in a world of uncertain directionals, she grasped for whatever truth she found. Lying on the between of grass and pavement, she felt the hardness of the soft earth and how it blossomed into cold stone. Unfeeling, she craved touch but when she touched, thoughts stole her feelings into the deep recesses of her mind.
Trapped between blossoming blooms of flesh, captured in the moment of looking nice and being quiet, she sat. Ensconced in the folds of her people, she sat, numb to direction and ambition. She was throttled into obedience by an over-anxious mother who thought good for everybody so that it pleased herself.
It was the world of, “I don’t know, where do you want to go? I don’t know where do want to go?” A reply to answer the never ending cycle of aimless ambition.