She had always had one foot in the past, living in the twilight of has-been and would-be, never quite there in the present. They said she seemed older than her age, acting as if she’d lived through lifetimes of ordeal in the stormcloud eyes of hers. Indeed so, for standing in defiance of the current of time was not without repercussions. And her eyes could never firmly set sight on tomorrow. Those gazes would always be partly directed to the roads behind.

They saw only oddity in her ways, for no one could afford to be healthy doing so, rooting so strongly on things impossible to change. On glories overgrown and opportunities missed, on choices not made and days unrepeatable.

She too, wondered what might-be and might-have-been if she could tear her sight long enough to focus on tomorrow. Or maybe, today, for a start. Yet she would be pulled back by the longing, always. The tide was just as strong and there was where she belonged.

She shred her very being on each of her step, leaving part of herself to retrace someday. Heaven knew how much longer it could sustain, she had always possessed the dramatics flair.

But for a single moment,
the day’s fair and bright and the world’s right.

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Raindrops, moon, words, ink. magic. I'm somewhere between the lines.