Lena sways back and forth in the breeze blowing through the open window. Outside, the overcast is crawling away, leaving a hole in the cloud cover like a pathway to heaven, if it even exists. The trees, like the girl, bend and blow in the wind, the rustling leaves giving off a rhythmic harmony to those who care to walk by. The dew from the grass below is misting away, the beads of shimmer no longer rest on each and every blade; the beauty is gone, simply leaving an unpleasant wetness. Through the window, Lena still sways.

The window pane, like the rest of the house, is falling apart. Hanging on just one hinge, the broken glass appears at home with the chipping yellow paint and dead plants below. Beneath the dilapidation, the cottage is almost homey, but as the ruin is so difficult to see through, it remains mistaken for eerie, almost frightening. What is left of the glass on the window is layered with dirt so that, if not broken, not a soul passing by could see through. However, as that is not the case, a person could walk down the path through the trees and peer into the house. They would see Lena, still swaying.

Inside, the cottage is no better. Piles of old books lay upon the dusty carpet, waiting to be put on the shelf that is not there. A sandwich with just one bite taken from the side sits on a make-shift table, ready to be finished, which will never happen. Lena won’t finish it, however hungry she might be. She comes to the cottage to get away, and when Lena needs to get away, she isn’t hungry. She wants only to curl into the corner of her abandoned home and lay there for eternity, never standing again; that is almost what she gets. She came today knowing that she would never leave. Hanging from the rope, a serene look upon her once troubled face, Lena still sways.