She had always known where she belonged.
She had always been proud of yesterday and sure of tomorrow.
She had always stood fast on the meaning of the colors within her dreams.
She was in love, she was happy, she was home.
Home is where the heart is, and hers was here, was it not?
Lately doubt clouds her mind,
Her confidence is shaken.
Who was she? Who is she?
Is her purpose what she thinks it is?
As she walks along struggling with the turmoil of loneliness within her, a leaf twirls past, Orange, like the setting sun,
Who after fighting the ever-changing seasons is seen as nothing more than an outcast of the greenery of the blooming summer.
With that second
That blink of her eyes,
She knows where she belongs
And she knows it is not here.