Mugs and mugs of coffee kept gettimg rinsed and refilled.
The brewer couldn't even breathe.
Ane she kept sitting there, the sunlight fading, the evening hues of orange turning to shades of pink before the night sky engulfed the blue sky in its perpetual darkness. Even the black wouldn't stay. The fog would devour the blackness in a matter of hours too.
If nothing was permanent in life, how was it that chaos didn't diffuse into something else? Or was it her eccentricity to look for ways to complicate even the trivial matters? The mind knew nothing. The heart felt everything. The cauldron kept brewing with redundant ideas of escape. What from? She wouldn't know.
Fear and peace. How the world paradoxes lost sense in her context. The viciousness of vividly remembered memories and the fading reluctance of desires kept having a tug of war where only she lost. The exhaustion was overwhelming. She wanted to scream so bad that her voice silenced itself. There was too much to fight against. Nothing to fight for.
And if this is how her existence would be,
Why, just why, could she not fade in the background? She knew what it was to keep the dead alive and how. The question was, if she seized to be, who would keep her alive?
I'm memory, In nightmares, In dreams?