Day breaks, she contemplates what she’s living for and lifts her lids in misery to another, soulless twenty four. Leading a life filled with lifeless things, she roams to seek another, but her path grows fuzzy with its distance and entices her no longer. She marches on; strength regressing with every step, but she marches on. Until her knees begin to buckle and she’s lost the will to stand, she’ll rest her lids and dream this way because it’s the most she’ll ever have.
