An abstract composition of who she was.
To have met someone. Twice, maybe three times. She was a powerful individual, a charismatic presence. Talented, and with that came the pain of a life led intensely. The hidden desire to simply be happy, one day. That day finally came as she met a man whom she could love. And he loved her. She allowed herself to stop dreaming the ambitions that never quite satisfied fear’s hunger. To stop working so hard.
Soon, words were stolen from her. Her own mind became the thief. That mind knew very well it was taking things from itself and storing them in a separate, insatiable, vault. It kept eating more of her, of her own being. It ate her language, her senses, her experiences. And while doing so it grew. In her own mind, which was feeding on itself. She won the fight by making the only decision her mind could make against itself: to die.
Rest in peace, Jacqueline. You are still the powerful woman I met twice, maybe three times.