Lucinda Davis

The Mind is a Strange Thing

Some days it seems like this loneliness would overwhelm my soul and lead me into the wilderness of dark and dreariness. I can't remember the last time I heard another's voice or seen a face other than my own in the mirrors around all the walls. At first, I thought it was neat to see my reflection at every turn but now they seem to mark me as to say "we are many. You are alone". The weather always matched my weariness or was it my weariness that caused the weather's dark clouds.