Will There Be Tomorrow?

Last stroke of mascara touching my eye lashes, hair still wet, bathrobe on, sitting in the middle of this silent room, only Ottmar Liebert’s Surrender 2 Love melody filling the empty space between these walls and the emptiness in my soul. As I look into the hazelnut eyes lined with eyeshadows, I am not sure if I am looking into life or if I’m sinking into death. I am staring into the dust covered mirror searching for myself. I see the curve of my lips, purple with the taste of Napa Valley’s cabernet. Not even red wine has the power to make them smile. I watch a streak of my hair slowly slide down onto my face in a lazy wave, the eyes are open but they don’t seem to be the inviting door to one’s soul. They’re empty. The soul is broken, perhaps even shattered into a million little pieces. Everything as if in slow motion passing me by, yet, everything once loved seems to be gone in the blink of an eye. Hope once floating above one’s head is dissipating fast and, the mind, the mind is sleepy unsure if it should wake up. Perhaps it’s all just a nightmare and tomorrow will be a brand new day.

Tomorrow's Voice by Sharka Waite

By Sharka Waite

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