And all of a sudden she's afraid of dying because she now worries about the one that she'll leave behind. Whatever will she do without her? A lot probably. But what if… What if she doesn't?

She's changing, day by day, she can feel it. She's becoming softer, noisier. She's spent such a large part of her life being the quiet one, that she can hardly recognize herself nowadays. Now she talks. Not as much as the others, but a lot by her standards. And she talks to a lot of people. To M' and her father, and even to D' if they happen to be in the same room.

Up to two years ago she only talked to the old ladies of an even older town, whom she'd help with their everyday needs. She would shop for them, pay the bills, do whatever they asked her to for a small fee. And she was happy with things exactly as they were. She was independent. She didn't have to report to anyone, or care for anyone's opinion for that matter.

Everything changed when she invited M' into her world. And it changed for the better. She can admit that now. Though sometimes she still misses her almost completely silent days and nights, her solitude.

M' is the light of her life. The light, not the love. But does she need to love? Really? If she ever falls in love she wants… she wants love to consume her to the core of her being. She wants to die when she is finally been loved in an absolute way by another human being, woman or man it doesn't matter. She thinks of herself as a pansexual creature.

What's wrong with me? she now wonders aloud. Nothing is wrong with her. She's just an innocent victim of her circumstances. She's pushed M' into D's arms and she doesn't feel bad about it, those two were made for each other. But now, that her friend has found love, or rather found the courage to reach out and get what was there for the taking, now she feels lonely. How can that be?

That's life for you. You do something good and then you start to regret it if not for anything else for selfish reasons. She's happy with her friend's happiness, but sad about her small loss. But how can she miss so much someone she sees every single day? She's never felt like this before in her twenty eight long years on this planet. Could she be the one? But no, she couldn't, she knows that all too well. What the hell?

I need to paint her. That's what she needs to do. Paint her soul. The sadness and the light. Paint her hands, the only hands whose touch is very welcome by her body. Paint her pale blue eyes and her sometimes wide smile. Paint her hair, normal black long hair, that cascade carelessly down her back. Paint her in all her moods and all her incarnations. As a goddess and a demon. As a muse and a terror. As day and night, and all that comes in-between.

Oh wake up, Nadia, she scolds herself. Wake up. You love her but you are not in love with her. Right? Right.

She's pacing the room. This is yet another sleepless night spent on one of her side projects. She's searching for someone, a woman who's gone missing months ago without leaving a trace and whom the police has never found. No one hired her for this job, she does it because she wants to. Because she has to. If not her, then who?

You and your obsessions, M' tells her lovingly every now and then. Yes. Her obsessions keep her alert. They give her an extra purpose in life. But they carry danger with them as well, since many a time her searches lead down dangerous paths and into trouble. And they make her vulnerable. They open her heart to unseen and unforeseen attacks. Just like the one that occupies her mind right now.

I should not have taken a break, she whispers in the dark and clenches her fists. But she should. She's spent more than eight hours in front of a computer screen doing research. She needed the break to give her eyes and mind a rest, to regroup and refocus. But her mind had plans of its own.

She remembers a friend, an old friend, she haven't seen for ages. Much older than her, she had met him about ten years ago. She haven't seen him in eight. And she had no other friend until M' came along. They got along splendidly the two of them. He had stories to tell, wine to share, and was a great listener. They've spent many a night just drinking and talking. And drinking and talking. But she never told him her big secrets. You don't have to tell me, I know, he said again and again, and somehow she believed him.

Where are you now, you wandering soul? He left all of a sudden, at the beginning of a hot summer, to go and find a new beginning as he told her. She hasn't seen him ever since, and she did not try to search and find him. He will come back when he's ready, she thinks and a sad smile greases her lips.

On a small table at a corner of this large room there's a stack of books that he's sent her over the years. Mostly by others but some he's written himself as well. Children's books, fiction, crime novels. Her favorite is one that takes place in New York and in which the hero dies. She got angry with him when he killed him off, but in the end she realized that he did the right thing. In order for the story to work he had to die. All The Things We Have Lost, that was the title.

She knows a thing or two about loss. And she knows about being lost and nobody caring enough to search for you. A small tear escapes her eyes. She wipes it away with a determined move and sits in front of the computer screen again. It's way too early for this night to end. Let the morning star rise over another land when its time comes.

The image is taken from here.