Narcissism

Those feelings she’d taken on, seemed to have shut the door of utter caring for a broken world, a cracked shiver in time and hid away in the closet of clouded desire. Nothingness, everything: the common feelings of us all relinquished in greys so fragmented, so disjointed that they seemed to never be put back together; and when Sarah’s time of resting place took hold of her, through a looking glass, she see saw herself far in the future—but being reeled closer as if by a fishing line of emotion—she could not help but hear the loud voices threatening her for her to be held hostage to play a game of chance; a radiating chess game—the opening her choice, the endgame a decision told by fate. And still, she smiled when she walked. She talked so suddenly, so immaculately clear. It seemed as though, at times, she were a Greek orator, speaking loudly among the minions hungry for truth; stuck in the famine of feeling all the penny’s worth spent on the candy of love, to shine for a moment, to dull in the next as it is passed from one slave to another, barely reaching the citizens of fate. But there it was, over distant irritating hills, her destiny as she would know it, crouched in pensively morose waiting, holding its breath until the time of clarity crawlingly came to sweep her away into some other sphere of caring, of kneading the enhancements of reality again—the deepest blacks, the brightest hues of white. To see the beauty in outer colors of the spectrum bursting through the emotional door of feeling, for just a moment in time. To encounter the infinity of him