so the wondrous world of word imagery has been away for some time long now, too long for her to feel alive again, to detect whether or not she even exists. she has been closing her eyes to hear more about what the world is saying, but most of the times all she hears is unbearable pandemonium and harsh uproars. suddenly one who is twisted is no longer only her: the world is in a such competition of being in despair, where the more melancholy they are the more kudos they get. the world is ridiculous now. even one whom she has been holding on to becomes one of those strange people. she is left only with one more attempt to, this time, close her ears and start seeing. thoroughly, closely. only to find more of blinding blazes.