A beautiful woman stood upon the brink.  How did her many footsteps lead to this?  A spectator within her own life, where all interaction was hollow and made her feel inept.  Her hope dashed upon the rocks, no fanfare made, no lifeboat in sight.  Life had become a cage whereupon her perch this songbird did not sing.  All memory of song long faded and beyond any desire or recollection.  Yet people came to stare.  This elegant thing within her sinking cage.

  She stood with her arms clenched to the metal bars.  Their cool harshness anchored her, mentally their frostiness prickled her.  She raised her arms from the bars, reaching  skyward, spreading her wings.  Arms raised as if giving absolution to all those who had sinned against her.  A martyr upon her cross, the nails of emotional anguish running deep.

For all the events in her life it was tragic that those with loss came forth most readily.  The events which she had mattered most to friends and family had become faded – like oil paintings upon which the dust had long settled.  This situation is saddening but understandable.  How could a thing of such beauty and talent, suddenly elevated, not feel remote?  To defer to cliche – put upon a pedestal – until so much distance seperates us from her.  Until that rocky seat becomes a majestic cage for a noble creature;  so that she dwells amongst stars, where many peoples hearts dwell but fingers never touch.