She observed the world outside from her tower; not directly, but through a veil of shadows, always protecting herself from reality…
She cocooned herself in her shell; blaming the curse upon her, but secretly comfortable in the familiar stink of her surroundings…
She mourned her isolation; cribbing about the loneliness that encapsulated her life, but subconsciously alienating anybody who tried to break through…
She kept weaving steadily; complaining that it was a task and not a passion, but holding on to it all the same…
She held up her mirror and noticed the reflection of Sir Lancelot; this time she mustered enough courage to leave the tower, but her destination remained at a distance, much like the world outside, much like her dreams, much like her aspirations…
She was the Lady of Shalott, much like the rest of us…
2 comments:
<3
Love, love, LOVE this piece! :D I have absolutely no words to say HOW FABULOUS this post is! There is a Lady of Shallot in all of us. And almost everyone faces a Sir Lancelot at least once in their lives, to open the Pandora's box and lead us to a life of jaded cynicism.
@carpe diem
lol.. thanks! at times I feel so jealous of you that you are in a profession which actually pays you to read and write! for me, literature is like a long lost love that I keep going back to from time to time; an illicit affair if you will :) this post is the same I guess.
Post a Comment