She moved away when she wanted to stay; the new life awaiting her was too big of a change. She tried to adjust, but her soul began to rust, from the inside out.
She did not know what was going on, she did not want to know what was wrong with her, much less the remedy to her condition. She wanted to stay as she was, lucid and half dead; impossible to go back, too tired to move ahead. She was stuck in the middle of the great. She lay down on the ground, watching her day dreams drift by.
Not caring that she was dying, just smiling and smiling.
She could see right through her thoughts as they floated around her head, could see all of the faults and perfections and all of her dread. They were perfectly imperfect in every way; a new world to her heart. She could hear the world and listen as the daffodils told her their secrets. She could cry in the wind, her hair in her face, her tears in her eyes and on her lips. She could scream. Scream as loud as she wanted.
But she could not hear herself.