Thoughts.

She couldn't stop dreaming of distant misty hills and raindrops surfing on the carglass as she drove away from all that she wanted to exterminate, of distant forests and a warm mug between her hands in a wooden house. A notebook lying on the oaken table waiting for ink to tarnish its virginity seduced her to spend hours on consuming her thoughts. She couldn't stop dreaming of living. Sometimes he appeared in her visions, holding her tightly but most of the time she saw herself alone, hugging her knees and humming sad tunes to the rhythm of the midwinter breeze.

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