The soles of her bare feet sported near-permanent stains. Grass and dirt and years. Not many, but enough. It's something she didn't even think about anymore, now that she didn't get tiny cuts from walking across the lawn.
The stains were truth. Or, more, an absence of falsehoods. The truth of the oneness of herself and the earth and everything on it. It was all she could do to stave off the loneliness a little longer.
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1 comment:
I love this. Your use of "oneness" during a time in her life that she was NOT lonely.. when "one" is usually associated with feeling alone. now, surrounded by people (i'm assuming she's in the city...) she has lost her oneness and it has been replaced by loneliness.
very nice.
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