Green electric messages
buzzed through her head.

"Will I ever make it?" she said.

"Will I make it to a place
where my unrealised dreams do not fade
and disappear, like snow
fighting the sun on a winters day.

Disappear and leave my empty thought-shells
sitting on a couch in the corner of my heart
- so that I feel I need to hug someone
just to restart.

When the fibers of my mind restore,
will my synapses come alive?
Like those little lights
that don the backs of wild firefly
on a summers night...

...and perhaps with all my might
I'll try to push letters out onto a page
to replace what was once there
- a blank space.

Yet, what a waste-"


Jennifer Alé