Grief

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She sat in bed, leaning against the small piece of wall adjacent to her second floor window. Coldness exuded from the thin pane that separated the dark, wet world from the solitude of the room. The slight tapping of rain-on-glass was the only thing keeping her thoughts from drifting.

It was silent.

It had been silent since she sat up and listened for the front door to click shut.

That was nearly three hours ago.

Already, numbness had crept upon her, and the room that had been her sanctuary from the pain she excaped had changed. The prison she desperately tried to ignore had found her once more.

No tears escaped-- the sky had shed more than enough for the both of them and now threatened to flood the beautiful scenery she woke to every morning. The sunrise would not greet that beauty in the morn.

Denial. It was the cloak she wore to hide from the world. It was the blindfold that kept the reality at bay. It would be the very thing that would keep her numb and marginally functional instead of succumbing to whatever lay behind the mask. She wouldn't accept it. She refused to peek beyond the door. Her new prison was safe; knowing what lay outside was a freedom she couldn't risk taking.

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