Sarah watched as the warm, cheerful firelight deftly swept the lonely shadows up into its loving embrace. They nimbly twisted and turned around each other gently twining together in an intimate dance meant only for each other. She always wondered if she was the only one who understood how erotic it was to watch this carnal mating of light and dark. Were there others who looked into the shadows and turned away blushing as if they had just walked in on two impassioned lovers or was it just her? She never dared ask anyone for fear of being ridiculed by her family and peers or accused of being a hopeless romantic cloaking the world in her own amorous idealisms.
She could not deny the fact that she had many a night sat and watched this very same dance, imagining herself as the lonesome darkness yearning for the light to come and drape her world in its magnificent shadows, dispelling the emptiness inside her. Perhaps she was a bit of a romantic but if that were in fact the case then she was indeed somewhere beyond the timeless bounds of hopeless. Sarah was old enough and educated enough to know that there was no light waiting to shine down on her.
In her mind life was simply what one made of it, as was love. Love did not simply seek one out, you had to tirelessly hunt it down and upon finding it grasp on clinging wildly as you sacrificed every ounce of yourself out of fear that it would escape your grasp and seek shelter in the open arms of another more suiting huntress. She had participated in this gruesome chase to the extent of exhaustion and found that she much preferred the loneliness of solitude over the mind shattering agony that came with heartbreak.
Her imagination was more than enough company for her, easily supplying any lover she could hope for or want whenever she had the yearning. She was more than capable of creating day and week long escapes chock full of intrigue, drama, romance and even horror. Imaginings that left her feeling complete and sated without any concerns of being used or cast aside.
Lisa rhythmically tapped her long, red fingernails against the hard, mahogany desktop as she vigorously chewed on the mangled remnants of a well used, yellow, number two pencil. Sighing, she dropped the pencil and removed her glasses setting them, not ungently, down upon the shining surface of the desk. Frustration set in as she furiously stared back at the rapidly blinking cursor on vivid white screen of her laptop. She could feel it mocking and judging her as the flowing spring of words that had overtaken her, urging her to run to her keyboard in a frenzied rush in order to capture them like so many droplets falling upon a barren desert floor, came to an annoyingly abrupt end.
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