Candid Corvid Productions

She found herself at a different house, on a different hill, and a man closer to her age that she had known once was vital, like she remembered when he used to complain of wanting to lose a few pounds.

He was “up to his old tricks,” finessing in his professionalism as he always did so well.

And he was still well situated and longing for that “perfct” person to come play a partner in life with him.

She dreamed that happy childen came to visit because he knew much of the neighborhood community, and she was losing weight there being in a neutral environment without cirtisol constantly hitting.

In fact, her curves were about to be, for once, eye popping.

But she stood there in the middle of what felt like artificial tranquility – which is something that only the financially established can simulate.

There were no threats of danger beyond mere challenges of the stock market and managing consumerism.

She could stay here, “forever,” and be provided for as just a version, a fragment of herself.

And she had to admit that the thought of letting go of her struggles to just become a place holder without conflict somehow seemed tempting.

But she told him she wasn’t “dating” until after the new year.

Still looking outward on that internal shoreline, she was aching for another, and waiting.