All she wanted to do was make it stop, it hurt and even though it was a familiar feeling, every time it was still a secret; it had to be kept hidden from the outside world. She couldn't say no for it wasn't in her control and the saddest part is that she accepted what was given to her. It was like the need for oxygen, the yearning for food, and the vitality of water. She spent most of the time not there, waiting for the night to pass so she, as well as her heart, would survive one more day. She would get up from the bed and always, like a never ending, taunting, haunting routine, she would stare out the window. The warmth of the sun on her face would force her eyes open - not just to the trees that blocked out the road, but to the experience of the quiet suffering she endured. She would always be naked when she woke up, bare and cold. It was the rays of light that the morning gave that washed her thoroughly, gently and she would give herself willingly, effortlessly. The shape of her body would always smooth out the imperfections that took years to drag her down. They were covered, all those parts, so she could maintain the radiance of the clothes she'd wear and the elegance of her words.

But before she began the task of being reasonable and strong, she would let the gold seep into her skin.
She would let it explore her with the passion of its heat.

For moments, minutes or, rarely, even hours, she would be entranced by the beautiful blue that was the sky, standing still in front of the window. No one came around to visit, to come and care for her, no one to talk to, so she never worried someone would see her. Her neighbors were old and grumpy ladies who, not once, bothered to try for a friendship or say hello. And so she would have to deal with the loneliness, she would tell herself before she would abandon the window, grab her clothes from wherever they