The quiet girl was sitting at the window,
Gazing into the darkness of the night.
Only the ballads of the chirping crickets
Were to be heard under the pale moonlight.
She sought to find her peace—away from others,
While cheerful voices chatted endlessly.
But she was strange, silent and always awkward,
Never herself in their vicinity.
So, there she was, staring into the distance
At what could be her true welcoming home.
The darkness mirrored clashing thoughts and feelings,
As restless shadows conquered her—deformed.
Reality was crushing her entirely,
Weighing her down—her spirit growing weak…
It pained her greatly: knowing that she wasn’t
Just brave enough to not care or to leap.
She stepped over the window frame, deciding
To be one with the quiet of the night.
Velvety arms—the ever-growing darkness
Embraced her fully. The hour of midnight.
The ghostly moon, the pallor of the window.
That’s all there was. But out there, in the night,
A weeping willow could be seen. The misfit
Had found her home. Reborn. Forever white.
– Patricia
Da Capo al Poetry 