Joanna

She moves eloquently across the room like a ghost. Her pale skin reflecting the cold and unuttered feeling that subsides deep within her expression. I look into her eyes from a distance and she quivers and continues to slowly pace the cotton-carpeted floor. Her left leg gently rises and rests upon a brown oak stool that resembles something vastly opaque and vulgar in the presence of a being so extravagant. My backbone strains and I feel paralysed with a sense of worth that I feel every time I see her. The green eyes of my companion remain open as she gently moves her skinny wrists towards the mantel that remains positioned next to her stone white visage. She takes a cigarette from a golden pouch with such detailed fashion and the perfection of her isolated exterior freezes before she rests the papered cylinder between her red lips. I am possessed by her presence. The comprehension of the affection that I feel for her devours my longing to stand and join the angel that graces me with everlasting poise. The light refraction from a glass pane mirror shimmers like a halo above her head. My surroundings illuminate to a full array of colour as her cropped ashen hair fills me with an unexplainable joy and subsequence. Why is she here, why is she taunting me with such compassion and life? Every movement like a laceration in my lament for existence. Like a porcelain figurine, her body resembles a creature worthy only of Romance of the Three Kingdoms. Her shoulders envelope as she exhales and I turn to the side, unable to exemplify my understanding. I cover my ears as not to here her voice; I cannot bear to witness her exit.