the state of things.

When she got up that morning, it was no longer because of fear or threat. She was not worried about her robe, whether to wear the blue plush one or the simple yellow one. She could face a sun, twelve suns, a world of fire. There was no more loneliness because her heart was true and her head was right. Creation was pure, and she created thoughts of birds in blue skies. So she was solitary -- she left the house in a determined state, determined to live on. She knew what she wanted, and she wanted nothing. Her hands were cold and fumbled, but they were still perfect art, all hers to adore for once. Her mouth stretched out the word "amen" and it felt right to be alive and to know. The hurt, the pain, the loss all flipped over and she strangled them with significant force. She wanted to sink, but not into sadness; into peace with the world. It was alright, always had been, things just changed. She woke up to realize that she could never get a case of the yesterdays, that the reprise was the better version. She woke up to realize her love had died the day before.