Empty balcony

That evening was undescribable. It was a chaos. She was in the middle of a storm. She was the storm. It left her devastated as usual. But something was very different. Maybe the previous night, a fairy had visited her and touched her with her magick wand. We may never know. But the difference was evident as the morning ray. For, unlike the other times, she felt a stir of anger in her. Every storm came with a promise of depression. But this one came with a touch of anger. It was something new. She, in her new found anger, vowed to never return again. Never to face the world again. She panted as she walked up the stairs to the empty balcony. She did not want anyone to see her crying. For it would have been a shame.

Maybe the balcony had awaited her arrival. For there was a beautiful display of the setting sun. She watched it like she had never the sun in it's full glory. She stood there in the gentle drizzle. She neither covered her  head nor shielded her eyes. Maybe it was the breeze, that made it more enchanting. Maybe it was the silverlined clouds. She stood there dumber that the Griffin at the Church. She stood still, till the moon graced with her sickle shaped body, till the fireflies decided to perch on her raven black hair. The empty balcony was no longer empty. She gradually retraced her steps.

Something was very different that night. She felt it in her heart. Something so soft as a feather. Still heavier than an anvil. She promised herself for the first time that she will make it through. She did not know what to call it as.

The rest of the world called it Hope.