Waiting is a funny thing, it is.
Sometimes when she doesn't bring any form of interlectual stimulation or amusement, she likes to ponder. Spend tine lost in her tangled mess of thoughts. Imagining. Dreaming up possibilities; reliving moments in the past. Falling hopelessly in love.

Her thoughts are a wonderous thing. She enjoys living in her own world, where things are as they should be, where nothing is perfect, but everything is beautiful.

She dreams of touching the sky, of kissing the sun, embracing the stars. She'll burn a hole in the sky, fall through it, to a world where everything is possible, where nothing is real.
Where the hearts of young beings take flight, and normality is disposed of.
Everything is as it should be.

So here she is, once again alone with her thoughts, dreaming of imperfection, of beautiful bliss, of dancing with the rainbows of time, flirting with death itself. Taking charge of vast kingdoms, marching them to victory. To celebrate life itself. Celebrating each breath, each waking moment of being alive, being whole, being free.

What price would one pay to break away. To break away from institutions, from society's way of thinking, of behaving. Breaking away from everything typical, everything mediocre.

Mediocracy has no place here.

There, alone with her thoughts she is once more. Coming up with insane possibilites. But it's okay, because if you still have your sanity, you have no place here.