“What do you want?” He posed the question like a threat.
“Your love.”, she whispered.
At this point she didn’t care if he heard her or not. She was in a strange place, where stalactites and stalagmites grew. Life was a blur.
She stepped out in the night, her anger was real and bitter in her heart. Where did it come from? Why did she care? It was because these things were real. What if she didn’t want to work these things out?
She wanted to be Jack Kerouac. She longed to be a drifter. But, life had changed. She didn’t have regrets anymore. The canvas had changed. The fabric was made whole. The voices she heeded where different. She didn’t dare to compare them. But, she still cared.
Maybe there wasn’t a poetic ending. Maybe the tail of her kite was lost in the sky for now. Maybe passion was missing.