She was waiting. Everything was so slow these days. Even those things that were to be rushed went at a snail’s pace. Then again what would be the point in rushing if you just hurried up to wait?
None if it mattered, anyway. You rush to become dirt. To receive ashes. To stare at a minimized essence. She felt sadness but it was at the surface. Deep down there was nothing. Time for another sip of melancholy.