she was nothing but a silhouette.
her life once vivid- colored by dream and ambition has been blackened by a past too present still.
knocking on the doors of high rises and hotel rooms, carrying her treasured heels into the vapid mist of a sleeping city.
her figure even out of the mist is the only thing to make out still.
emptiness travels in her bones and loneliness is a dear friend.
by rare occurrence of special characters, she becomes illuminated and her appearance is said to be of an angel.
these special characters, men with their reassuring smiles, and kodak promises- and their shortcomings of wives, flirtings and lies make her short-lived sparkle dim.
she allows disappointment to counsel her and guide her deeper into shadow.
the silhouette is the tragic girl now
