A Jingle

So, everyone... I realize I haven't posted in awhile, and I realize we all hate when people don't update their blogs... here's something. Though I have a little curb going on right now... I can't seem to stop singing the Bounty paper towel jingle. Enjoy! And Happy Holidays.



She is here to try and hold back her hurt. She's becoming cold, and she's trying to decipher this change she feels. This is her solitude. This is her snow globe.

Her mittens are blue with a red heart in the center. They keep her fingers toasty while she touches the snow. She looks up as if falls all around her, hitting her eyelashes and dripping down her cheeks. She has a blue hat, and red scarf to match. It takes her an hour to finish the snowman. She loves the gentle memories of being a child in winter time.

She gives him two rocks for eyes, and shivers while taking her scarf and hat off, to put on him. Her phone rings unexpectedly. She pulls it out of her pocket and on the third ring hits silent, so she doesn't have to hear it ring anymore.
For she's empty.

Her other pocket holds a gingerbread man wrapped in a paper towel. She made many the night before. He has blue eyes and blue buttons. His sleeves and legs are adorned with white frosting. She looks at the cookie and has no room for thought about anything other than the fact that there is a home made gingerbread house sitting on the counter in her home, unfinished.
She bites the head off of her ginger bread man just like a child would, and chuckles to herself at how good it tastes to behead a cookie.

The snow flakes are getting bigger. Her snowman already has a layer of fresh snow on him. Any sign of her hands working hard on him are now diminished.
She sits next to a small evergreen finishing her cookie. Now she's starting to think more. The five W's plague her mind. Why? Who?-- but especially the added H, how?

She looks down at the empty red mittens next to her. She wants to cry so badly. The snowflakes do it for her. She rubs her arms and runs her cheek along the top of her shoulder to try and comfort herself. What is going on? She doesn't even know.
All she knows is that there is no one that understands her. No one who is like her.
How will she cope with this for her life? How will this, being alone, not turn into loneliness? The ground beneath her starts to shake and she puts both of her hands on the tree to sturdy herself. Her face crashes against the rough trunk and cuts her chin.

Things settle again, as it snows more. She she's drops of blood fall into the snow, and realizes the cut is not going to stop bleeding anytime soon. She is happy to have the towel with her that her cookie sat in. She holds the towel over her wound. And something snaps. She starting crying. Crying and crying. Happy as ever that no one was around to hear her. She continued to cry until her eyes became swollen and her voice became hoarse. She heard footsteps in the snow behind her.

Who? This is her solitude.
She decides not to move an inch until she has answers to her questions.
Frozen, in her globe.