Purposefully selecting
her attire of masks,
(many, for there are
to show them to)
she glances out of the window
by the door.
I know her,
hear her music
an echoing
and cello symphony.
(of few)
She wades in her
solitude/insanity, reaching
for human
interaction within her grasp, but
it's all gone, now,
and she will die.
The story is long told,
long gone,
and her hair loosened
down to her shoulders,
free, at last.
All the lonely people...