Smudged are her thoughts, just around the edges, from perfect precision to hazy and obscure. A lipstick smear on the collar of her mind, telling, withholding reason. She has lost all sense of where to go from here. The journey meanders on the same path, backwards and forwards, and onwards… again? Never deviating, never changing, always predictable. She yearns for change, a shock to the senses, a new direction, yet she continues on, never ceasing, only onwards in Sisyphean fashion. Today, however, she has awakened to a new thought, slowly drawing her out past the lingering fog of repetition. Slowly coming into focus. Slowly cleansing away the murky sludge of lost opportunity.
Prompt word from Love in Ink’s “A Year of Creative Writing Prompts”