She had smiles for breakfast, and twinkles for lunch. She searched for rainbows and fairies and roasted them for dinner. All things nice and everything magic was what she craved. So she ate them all. She ate them whole. She ate them pretty. 

The difference between right and wrong were opinions in this case. Prejudices were running high and the pit of the stomach churned out anger, despise, disappointment like it was nothing. People close to her did not know what was to be done. People who did not know her thought their understanding of her mentality was supreme. Other people probably did not give a damn.

She had always asked herself what she would do when faced with an impossible choice. Would she choose logic and rationality and principles or crude and unfounded sentiments of close-d ones? The time had come when it was taken out of her hand and handed back to her with plot twists that make thrillers look tame.

The choice was simple. Choose what is right. The difficulty being that her right was so very wrong for the unpolished minds of the middle-class.

She had come to the conclusion that she would still stick with her ideals. Morals and principles were important. You’ve got to have a spine. Stand up for what you believe in. Otherwise you are just another hypocrite you don’t like. And she hated not liking herself.

The chaos in her head was organised it seemed. It was armed and ready for attack. She was surprised that anything in her life could be so organised; so ...so planned.

The price was too much to pay, or was it? Can you really forgo something you love for someone you love? Time will tell, wont it? She was getting tired of the questions. All it bore were more questions.

All her life she had thought she was a good person. She thought she cared about others in her life more than she cared about her needs. She just never thought she would be in a position to test that theory. Expectations have always been a burden. But, aren’t you supposed to be able to move mountains for people you love? She didn’t know. She just did not know.

Going through the motions of it all, she was tired. She was tired of questioning herself. She was going to let the chips fall into place. Meanwhile, the dark corner of her head, where everything was mundane and nothing spoke or stirred, beckoned her more and more.

She put her head to her knees, closed her eyes and hummed an old tune. Her dark place awaited. 

She knew he had seen her just fine, standing at the edge, arms wide open, eyes closed. She was glad he had not come to her, glad for the heroism he lacked and the empathy he did not have. 

She knew he had looked on, wondering what her next move was. He had watched her legs shaking and her hair blowing in the wind. She was glad that he had walked away; glad he had never bothered to look back.

She had taken the leap. She had fallen; fallen on to the soft clouds of relief. She had walked through the slowly lifting fog of pain. She had survived the haziness of repressed memories. It felt good. She was glad he was not a better man. 

She did not what to say. Or think. So she brooded over the dilemma.

Her mind felt like a bottomless pit. Talking was a chore. Thinking was work. Working was automated.

She used to be able to fight. She used to be able to cry. Now she gulps it in and later thinks about not talking about it.

Is it better this way? Has it made a difference? At what age do you stop making mistakes? At what age do you learn to be exactly what you wanted to be? She did not know. She did not even try to think whether she cared.

Mistakes are a part of life. She had learnt this lesson so early in life that it did not hurt anymore. She knew her mistakes were of the grave kind. Kinds that changed her a little bit every time. However, these were as much a part of her as were her pains and her smiles.

Fighting was so much harder now than before. It was easier to ignore. Tomorrow is always a new day.