she couldnt admit to herself that some things had happened. the knowledge ran as parallel rivulets to her consciousness, causing explosive turmoil whenever the streams of thought converged. she watched detachedly as the rivulets swelled over the years. their waters would one day drown her reason, but as she could see no solution at hand, she accepted it all calmly.
her life had become a disjointed ball of quivering fragments. each shard danced with an intensity and life uniquely its own, each born from the tears that she didnt cry. some fragments would beckon her to the past, an unwilling slave, she would obey their call. her life relived in its most painful emotions again.. and again.. and again. the malicious fragment would dance away then, leaving her a trembling wreck. she couldnt help but sit captive in the middle.
she smiled bitterly to herself as she acknowledged the jabs of the vicious shards which weren't supposed to exist, "so that's what ms. woolf meant". a small sigh escaped her lips. She straightened, held her head up proudly and once more resumed waiting.
patience can be a paralysing virtue.