She sat staring at the blank newspapers.
A pane stretched its arms before her
Time stood still, but slipped.
Silence had the wings of a damselfly
Frail and eroding.
A few words were forgotten.
A few emotions ceased to be.
The streets were turning a deep shade,
Like those eyes of that woman,
Who turned to her and then turned grey
Until only a shadow remained.
Her eyes had disappeared.
No reflections.
Happiness, she thought.
The idea of happiness, she realized.
The tea bags were empty
The milk had turned stale.
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