a story best left untitled

She stares vacantly at the rainy skies, her demeanour belying her emotions. Her feelings reproach her; her thoughts swirling mists of deluded fantasies, lanced with reality and recognition. A battle rages, and sense falls by the wayside. The screaming epiphanies, the gentle discernment, they should have nudged her towards the horizon. Yet she turns her back on them. Her choice resolute. In her mind she wields a blade so sharp, thrusting through a wall of crystal, driven deep to hurt, to end all hurt; so wither the petals, so succumbs the plant. She feels strangely liberated, the freedom to roam with wild abandon. She pauses for the slightest of time; she still has one last ride in her. Her doubt doesn't linger, hers is a self-fulfilling prophecy. She knows the folly of her choice; it won't end well, of course, but such is life. Hinc illae lacrimae.