She once told me a story. About a tower where she used to sit, day after day, at the window. From there, so high up, she could see the whole world. All the people she would never speak to. The parties she would never attend. The dances she would never dance.
I remember the wistful smile that passed across her face as she pictured that dream of a life she would never touch. So tantalisingly close, yet far beyond her reach.
“How sad,” I said, “to be trapped like that.”
“Oh no,” she replied. “The door was never locked.”
I remember the wistful smile that passed across her face as she pictured that dream of a life she would never touch. So tantalisingly close, yet far beyond her reach.
“How sad,” I said, “to be trapped like that.”
“Oh no,” she replied. “The door was never locked.”
