Her fingers weaved through her thinly hair, a broken record. Repeating, over again, over again, over again.

Lined, soft skin brushes against a yellowed letter, old but gold as she skips over the pure letters.

Pure. Dissolving into a broken promise.

 She recalled the first discovery. Amongst her eyecaps through she saw, a celestial golden hue of color. Life, was all it opposed yet supplied, as she yet again fell captive.

 How had she been so foolish? It would only come back once more, pulling her back again and throwing her out once she became comfortable. As if a ocean, ocean waves. The salty brilliance of its swirls a lost territory, what is ours yet itself free as the world's sight jumbles after it. Only a forgotten route is called by, the water itself covering a land once known by many, if not one, lost soul.

As its only mind continues, the clouds are bitter and dark. The crimson rains yet dribbles softly at the same tie, pounding against the raw red skin. Slick yet hard, soft yet calloused. The lines form a lost meaning as their souls are caught within the jails of the barriers, tough yet weak bones as they break again and form as if a lost memory has occurred.

 Have we ever lost sight of the true world beyond us? Uncalled for, it crashes down on us, a stinging hope that remains after the first amongst infinite blow. 

 The red paints itself, curled around its captured, the once peaceful blue becoming  a slaughter. The once alluring green grass has faded into a withered lost companion, resting cursedly on the softer pillars of soil, a snow.

 O call to me, Father, what was His purpose for seeing the spectacle of love?