Sylvia

'You do not know how a lonely heart is trapped in a cage made of dreams and bones.' she said. 'Yes, I do not know how to walk in a too small shoe but I feel the pain of the foot.' And it's only a whisper inside my head. I weep knowing that Sylvia is lying in a wooden box with no windows her flesh white as marble; I'd never thought she'll fall asleep, breathless on the floor of her kitchen.