I. She always enjoyed standing before the inner walls of the cage she called home.

She had always said she planned on walking over to the window, watching the cars pass by, and wondering where the little people could be going, and what they were thinking, and whether their lives would be saved, ended, or ruined that day.

Instead, she stood by the inner wall and took interest in the little insect people's lives as the crawled up and down her spine.


II. She never wrote poetry; she could only write eulogies.

She loved the odor, chill of the necropolis in her backyard. To her, the only inspiration she could find was after another body lie in eternal rest, old ashes and dreams past sifted back to the top of the world once again.

Oh, and she only wrote her eulogies for cockroaches.


III. Sometimes, she'd dream

About waking up in a bleached-black cell with no doors and no windows; but no roof. The sky opened high, but the colors were wrong: fuschia and orange and awe with stars falling down and striking at her feet. Little fish soaring through the air above her head, mumbling secrets that made her wish she could fly out of her cell and hug the fish, and whisper to them and console them....those fish that were parts of her.

These were the only times she woke up and prayed.


IV. There was a single red rose in her garden.

And it stayed there, rooted firmly until the day she died.

No one ever had a chance to ask it who; or why.


V. She had always wanted to see some glistening coast beach at a sunset.

But she never left her house after five years later.

And now, she never will.


VI. Her clock had a tiny brass bell.

And the bell always chimed at 11:11.

It was never said, but somehow, everyone knew.


VIII. No one ever tells you, when people are about to leave you.

When you'll have to write something like this; when you'll feel like you don't know enough to even fathom a single fact about them, let alone tell their lifes forth and short comings on a whim. Who can really know the depths, especially when years passed with no call, no contact, no...

I think she understood more than anyone; I think that's why her cockroaches had eulogies more thought-provoking than this.