A young Woman, usually archaic.
She sits in her study, letting herself muse over;
thoughts bestrewed like a Confetti under the mild-colored sky.
So much chores to do.
So much to cope with.
A wild-chasing to outwit the mass;
Or, surviving the vogue, at the least.
She wants to believe her life was beyond the recurring routine.
Far away from: Disgust, Wretched and Horrid.
Proximal to: Solicitude, Intimacy and Altruism.
For one winsome, transcending moment, she becomes the Royal line of Happiness, too.
Until, her pitiful reality gushes out.
Lifting herself out of fantasy, forcibly;
To save her from the disappointment, later on.
Later, she will step out of her house, in the attire, of renewed looks;
her head still high but soul tamed;
for the world will always expect a fiercely moving story!
Exclusively, struggling between subdued tantrums and chicanery souls.
Only, Now. Only, Again....
...she expects to be loved passionately.
Just like every-other day!
'Tch-tch', faces frown.
'Tick-tock', clocks rumble.
She's learning to embrace death.
And... She will.
Not people, not Kinships. Neither.
But the Long survival, until Death.
All thanks to "The Ideal Society",
whose castigation is waxed in extrapolation.