a moment's pause.

She sat silent, alone.

Some days, the thoughts in her head were mirrored by the expressions on the faces of those that passed her, as though each of them were part of this nameless, faceless revolution of societal thought that raced toward some strange and fatiguable future. In their faces lay echoes of passions long forgotten, even while the shadows of their figures marched endlessly on.

The weather was dreary that day, and perhaps was the cause of the melancholy pallor that lay projected upon the darkened faces of those aimless wanderers. A sudden movement distracted the lull, and a man in a finely buttoned peacoat marched determinedly forward, his presence washing through the crowd in much the same way a tidal wave would impress itself upon the everlasting land.

Sometimes, she thought of her loneliness as a deep and unrequited attribute of her individuality. As though by nursing this bittersweet feeling, she could achieve some means of comfort or purpose from its tasteless juices. As though this one thing could separate her from a crowd of faceless souls and save her from unforgivable mindlessness.

At times the loneliness would so consume her, the only solace to be found was in a morbid projection of her feelings to her surroundings; one lone mitten, hanging drenched from the grate of a rain gutter, dejected and abandoned. Or in the afternoon, a consoling image of three leftover cheerios clinging to the side of a cereal bowl, shriveled and disregarded by a morning rush.

It seemed almost vulgar, exploiting the depths of her emotions on inanimate objects, these things whose essence was defined merely by their size or shape, color or flavor, and which were completely incapable of anything besides the stimulation of emotion for an external force.

As the clouds shifted and exposed gentle brushes of light through the branches onto the frozen ground, her thoughts eased their way out of the shadows and she disappeared into the ceaseless current of the crowd.