Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen.
The same one which had looped around to
To her monotonous life,
Imagining firsts that hadn’t happened then.
She’d construe rainy afternoons and Sunday winter mornings in her head,
A wonderland to which the rabbit hole led.
Six months later,
When she realized that perfection was as hard to find,
As that night was to get off her mind,
She steadied her hand
“I knew it had been a mistake to step out alone that night as soon as I heard the imminent footsteps…”