She never knew she was capable of so much love…but now that she has seen the depth it can reach and tasted the bliss…she can’t settle for any less…but, therein lies the beginning of the end as such love can only come once in a lifetime and with just one person…if not, it can never be called love in the first place!!!
Or maybe not, maybe that wasn’t what she thought it was…if it were what she thought it was, it should have been forever…for eternity…
It’s a crazy, illusive thing…this thing called imagination…over a period of time imagination turns out to take such definite shapes that it takes the place of reality…fooling the beholder into make-believe. Until, finally…all the beholder is left with is changing shapes and mirages…in the world of make-believe…being "institutionalized" by one's own imagination...
Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
Of old unhappy far off things
And battles long ago
Or is it some more humble lay
Familiar matter of today
Some natural sorrow loss or pain,
That has been and maybe again…
So sayeth Wordsworth … and oh so right he is… so poignant and melancholic…that so well suits the disposition she is in now…
She lies entangled and entrapped in her own expectations and standards that will never get undone until and unless she loses herself…her essence…
She's dancing with shadows in the rain...
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