When you think of me (Day 631)

So, when you think of me,

am I sleeping? 

Am I awake, eyes pressed 

against the darkness,

trying to see into tomorrow?

When you think of me, 

am I alone? Is it a sad, 

spinsterish solitude? 

Or maybe my aloneness is 

tinged with the coolness 

of the crone? Am I content? 

Or do I fret and suffer 

in your thoughts? Do I 

cry or laugh? Shuffle or stride?

And then again, I wonder, 

and perhaps you wonder too, 

whether, you really ought to 

think of me at all.

(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: Looking Out the Window (1908),

by Peter Vilhelm Ilsted via Wikimedia Commons