A moment that passed by

Rain-washed trees swaying to the gentle tune of the breeze seem to be living the moment. The unbelievable heat, the sweat, the dust all forgotten and washed away. Curled up in the cane chair, running her finger over the patterns of weaving, she looks around. She feels blank, her fingertips a little cold and strangely numb. Vulnerable and not quite herself she feels the emptiness, the void in her. Wondering how it must feel to rest her head on a warm shoulder, or receive a look, removed from the details of living, meant just for her, or hear a word of appreciation that she matters. A tear drop finds its way down to her chin. Wiping the wake behind the warm drop, a smile curls her lips up, indulging in self-pity never fails to amuse her.