Her balcony. Solitude. Soundless snowflakes. She leans forward, and her tongue peeks out to taste the loose snow. The feel of snow melting to water quenches a thirst. For what? Childhood? Simplicity? Freedom? Her unhappiness persists without reason. It’s always been part of her. It adds depth to the show she puts on for others. Family. Friends. Husband.
Balcony time is hers alone. Sandra pulls the hidden pack from a pocket in her robe. Leaning back, she places booted feet where her tongue had pressed. Flame flickers, and peace washes over her as the smoke blends itself into the night.
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CaraLongWrites 