Stepping onto a decrepit street,I could see tongues of dense foglicking the neck of the night.It is difficult to tellwhere this world endsand the next begins.

I am cold, damp, sunless.Usually, I feel solace in the late hours.But now...There is a dim outline huddledin the corner, silent and ghostly.

Why is it so easy for herto give up on her lifelooking for the unattainable,living in the past,staying stagnant in misery?