Vanishing
Vanishing
12 April 2005, Tuesday
The woman was delicate; a fragile composition of beauty that seemed to react, like light, as if it were breaking. She had elongated spindles that shone outward from the centre of her body that seemed to catch, like spiderwebs, in the wind. She was radiant. Her skin glowed white; her lips, blood red--and her eyes burned fierce with the passion of dying. She was the vanishing sort; one that grew finer every day, yet at a closer look could seem to be lying. But she never hid her secret; she wore it as a sacred badge, for in her heart her passion lied. And as she clasped the light, which pulled her in--she died.
12 April 2005, Tuesday
The woman was delicate; a fragile composition of beauty that seemed to react, like light, as if it were breaking. She had elongated spindles that shone outward from the centre of her body that seemed to catch, like spiderwebs, in the wind. She was radiant. Her skin glowed white; her lips, blood red--and her eyes burned fierce with the passion of dying. She was the vanishing sort; one that grew finer every day, yet at a closer look could seem to be lying. But she never hid her secret; she wore it as a sacred badge, for in her heart her passion lied. And as she clasped the light, which pulled her in--she died.