...and she could have you know.

...she rolled over the floor, sweeping with her hair all the miniscule dust particles that collect on the cobwebs in the corners, forgetting her own accumutated years of fine spun webbing like lace yellowed with age and the numerous overbearing responsabilities back home waiting. She sees her drab hands crumple around the splintered shovel once again...to dig out of or into another hole. There was no difference anymore.

she could have....waited one second longer. Thought in that moment fleeting. A lifetime of new sky reborn under her falling lashes....