Father time

times going to pass anyway,

the hand on the grandfather clock says.

and she can not get that thought out of her head.

days went on and weeks,

swallowed by pain,

with absolutely nothing gained.

How messed up is that?

she made her self-pity.

all for what?

As she cozied on her couch and gazed out the window.

in her usual spot.

dreaming about what life could be.

what life should be.

then moaned as she realized it would never be.

Thinking about tomorrow,

she poured herself a glass of wine,

so red it was almost black.

and down it went.

The lingering thought of dreams teased her.

Showing her what life could be,

if she would only change her past.

But she can't do that,

so down another glass.

This night got emotional.

A uniqueness to it.

It never ended like this.

More of a numb nothingness as she drunkly made her way to bed,

her nightly routine.

Her cat came curious as her owner whined and screamed and rolled in pain.

Who was she?

"Who am I?"

The dreams come again.

Tranquility.

Mountains.

Camp.

Notebooks.

Peace.

Quiet.

Freedom.

Creation.

Torchuring her stuck soul.

Burning her weakening heart.

She screamed with everything in her.

A battle with the hatred she was enduring.

The clock looked down on her and asked "Why?"

In her drunken rage she failed to question if the clock actually was speaking to her.

I hate everything. All of this. I am not where I want to be. I am miserable and I am lying to myself about it. I need to get out but I cannot.

"Why can you not?"

Because I have no money, I need a vehicle, I have no where else to live, besides with my parents. I want somewhere new, free, and full of trees. I want a job I love, and the freedom to be who I am. I want little to no struggle in my life. I want ease, joy, and peace. Not only for me but for everyone in my life. I am an artist. I get these beautiful fucking ideas but nothing to do with them.

"Do you expect me to pity you? To feel bad or sorrowful?"

Well...I don't know.

"Was that so hard?"

What?

"Expressing yourself. Listening to yourself. Being honest with yourself. That, dear one, is all that you need. Not just now, not only when you are drunk or at your breaking point:/ you need this all of the time. This here is the key to get there. That life you dream, it is now. You must act now. You must decide now. You must commit now. You must choose if you actually want that, or what you have right now."

Well it is obvious I do not want the life I have right now.

"It is not obvious. You choose this life over and over again. Every decision you make brings you back here. By those looks, you do want this life. Actions over words."

She laid on her back, starring at her smooth, stained wooden ceiling: that seemed to bring relaxation through her body.

"Time passes anyway. and as it floats on by, you are deciding where the time is taking you."

The clock struck midnight.

She crawled to bed, tears flowing. She hadn't felt so alive in quite some time.

No longer drunk, she was aware. It was clear. The pain-it was real. Yet so was her dream. It was real. It was not too far gone.

This reality scared her. Showing why she was where she was. The belief is awakening in her soul. It is real.

As she soothed herself to rest, she awoke the next morning anew. Finding the beauty of her cats eyes gazing at her in admiration.

Snowfall greeted their morning window gaze.

She began to slowly pack up the place she once called home. The safety bubble of her's was ready to burst.

She left most of the furniture. Taking only what was needed.

Leaving the rest for free on the corner of the block.

Though of course,

Taking for her that special

grandfather clock.