tomorrow is already here

there was a girl. naivete was something she hadn't heard of. repetition was the theme of her life. fatalism prevailed; dark clouds often paused while travelling over her. behind her a trail of chains always followed. a greater burden was never carried.

sometimes while meditating, wounds would open themselves in her flesh. it resembled stigmata. the stains of blood never came out of the carpet. she would come home and find things missing on a daily basis. it felt like she was slowly being sucked dry.

she hoped life would come to a climax. she hoped a prince would come. she hoped the future would arrive. it never did.

the day she died, she confessed that she had always known life was a waste of time