Scattered Thoughts of a Scattered Mind

Three

She sits cross-legged on her shag carpet floor, rhythmically strumming the guitar resting on her thigh. The lights are dimmed, but she does not mind. It has been this dark in her room for so long that she has become adjusted to it, comfortable even.

As a young girl, she only saw beauty in the brilliant sunshine that streamed through her translucent curtains every morning upon waking. The melodic singing of the birds outside her window, spreading their joy unto others. A playground full of giggling children climbing the monkey bars and playing tag with their parents, busy and alive. But now, she is able to find beauty in the darkening of the sky every evening. The glistening, obsidian feathers of a raven flying overhead, its destination unknown. A graveyard on a cool autumn morning, peaceful and silent.

She gently places her guitar onto the empty patch of carpet next to her, and searches for her notebook. Upon locating it, she opens it, removes the lid of her ballpoint pen with her teeth, and writes,

"Beauty can be found in the darkest of corners, blood stained bridal gowns, and the most solemn of mourners. All one must do is learn to change their point of view."