Fifty days since the ascent.
Today's Weather: Rainy again.
I don't think I'll ever get to her at this rate. What can I be doing wrong? She's blessed with such a kind and gentle heart, and yet she shuts me out whenever I offer to bring light into her life.
More often than not I find her out on her balcony, fixated on the stars. Every once in a while I see her gaze through the gray clouds below her railing, watching her tears plummet through the atmosphere below.
Every day I visit, and every day she barely acknowledges my presence.
I know she's taking care of herself, because in the mornings a bottle of this or that will appear on her floor near her entryway. Today an empty blush palette, yesterday a spent bottle of perfume. Tomorrow is laundry day again, and while I'm eating breakfast, I'll see my assistant roll the cart by my door again to deliver seven pressed pink dresses to her door. To her the dresses must mean something; to me they all look exactly the same.
Every day she gets dre