She was prisoner again to the vagaries and tricks of mind. Lately the object seemed to be appearing even more often in her dreams and she thought she knew why; that type of sequence was secretly exposing a raw reality: the fact that it would never be more than a mere representation.
The vanishing point of her deepest desire had grown weary in time. Would the image of deceit ever cease to take shape? Nobody actually cared.
She had befriended a smothering present which could not erase the traces of tender memories... those memories whose spirit tightly embraced -maybe unconsciously, in realising that it was not fated to last,~
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