Incoherence, be it articulate or a myriad of lines, stacked neatly side by side in her bag. She never left home without bringing along some personal space for her imagination to run rampant.
Every morning she'd thank God for the grace He laid upon her, for the life that has been given on that day. Yet as the hours grow old, heartache intrudes. A sense of loss knocks on the door, causing her to stumble from the serene road. Then quite suddenly she finds herself on the fast lane towards a downward spiral, again...or so she thought.
She sighed, realising it was only a nightmare made up in her mind.
Granted, the scars will never fade and the war is far from over, but, even if she has to pick the pieces, there is hope.
