Right now, before lunch and the hospital, she went for a walk around the pretty lake. Despite the chill in her mind, the quiet of the day grew on her. She soon stopped hugging her arms around her body and stretched out, balancing over the pebbles of a little woodland stream, trickling beneath her feet.
There was no one there to tug her close and wrapped an arm around her waist. There was no one there to give her an affectionate or almost possessive squeeze as she drew close to the lakeside. Even so, she liked it here, under the fringes of the woodland canopy, where the green leaves gave way to the sunny March skies. Even alone it felt quiet and almost romantic, walking along, her mind wrapped in dreams.
The sound of the water interrupted her thoughts and the feel of the distant sea breeze made her lift up her face to smile at the hidden sun. If only it could always be like this then every day of her life would be filled with sweetness, and every night would be filled with beautiful memories of everything that would have happened during the day.
-You know - she whispered to herself, turning her head towards friends far away - that a morning like this makes life worth living. It all seems so very special.-
And then she heard the echo of a voice in here head though, an irritating, hectoring, reminding voice...
- Late nights are more ambiguous though? -
- They can be. - She shrugged. - I don't mind that sometimes. -
- That is as well. - the condescending voice of her conscience nagged her.
- It's just that... this wasn't supposed to happen - she muttered and let her hand fall to her side, looking away across the lake.
- His life wasn't supposed to happen? -
- No, of course not. -
- Well, it's a relief not to have a life thrown back at least. -
She held her hands to her head and quenched a sob.
- Hey - the maternalistic voice seemed to murmur, as if to reach out to restrain her anger.
- I'm sorry. I feel so shut me out. I just want some peace, that's all! -
- He wants peace too - the thought echoed in her head until her bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were filling with tears. She touched her cheek, the pressure drawing down a tear. Turning her index finger face upwards to halt the flow, she could feel the tear wobble on a finger tip. She lifted it carefully to her lips, tasting her frustration, her need, her desire. Then, she paused and let her hands drop back to her sides, staring glumly at the horizon.