In an empty room lit from a corner by only a hole which is as small as a fingertip of a baby, she drags her legs slowly as though they don't want to follow her movements. The piano starts to play a timelessly soulless melody. A melody that is as melancholic as the elegy written by a hopeless widow for his long-gone wife. She stands straight right there, eyes closed, chin up then raises her arms like a tired swan. When she makes her first step forward, her tears start falling. She is dancing in the dark over and over again.

Her every move speaks of every expression her mind explores and her heart beseeches. She crisscrosses her wounded feet like intertwining waves of hate and love she never tries to understand. She raises her left arm up umbrellaing her hand above her head as if she fears the upcoming rain whose drops will burn underneath her delicate skin. Her mind swings over the apathy her yesterdays have whispered to her. Like sharp-pointed arrows being shot directly to her ears that are too tired of listening to unbearable lies. She lowers her head, halfly bends her knees and slowly reaches out her right arm like she's pleading again for the old mercy she prayed for but left her clueless. Like an infant deprived of the cradles of her crib. Her only glory. Like a beggar crying in the middle of the desert at night. No one can hear. Her fingers gently fold one by one surmounting into a fist that is as hard as her cruel heart wrapped in rough chains. She rests her fist in her bosom and starts walking backwards. She tries to get off the darkness but there's no more getting away from her illusions. All that's left is despair below the midnight sun that doesn't shine anymore. She's now all by herself. No one to run to. No one cares. No one.

The melody starts to do a faster tune and a crescendo. Her heart pounds while she tiptoes clumsily but still perfectly traces a diagonal path. Just like a tiny nightingale perched on a thin branch of a tree hearing a sudden thunderclap, she jumps aimlessly as if the floor has broken pieces of glass that will make her heels bleed. She turns her back then raises her right leg leaning her back like a dying bamboo before repeatedly turning round and round like a raging tornado. Her pirouettes are flawless but not her happiness. She turns and turns until her toes finally commence their bleeding. Just like how countless stabs she gives her heart, it bleeds like high waterfalls. But she won't stop until she feels pain. She is, however, already numb. Not the beauty of sunsets nor the calmness of twilights can fill the hollows that are sunken in the depths of her mind. She is too exhausted of embracing things that are liquid. They easily let go.

In every swipe of her hands in the air, she dreams of holding roses and sunflowers alone in a large garden. In every time she breathes out and tilts her head, she imagines standing in the window of her room at early morning as she exhales her worries out to the wide world out there. Every sway of her body hopes of moments when she can sit in a swing as autumn leaves are falling. In every bend of her knees, she desires to feel the waves of the sea pulling out the sand as she prays silently in a distant shore. She dances so that God can hear all the sadness at the receiving end of her belief. She doesn't believe that He will listen. But she still prays. She refuses to surrender in eternity.

Now the melody has done three refrains and is about to end. The room is still perfectly quite and pitched dark. She surrenders her soul now. She makes her last move as she sits down, her knees on her chest, curling like a stagnant ball not ready to roll again. She finally opens her eyes as the melody stops playing. She smiles and feels like today's like yesterday. Like every other day tearing her life away.

"There will always be hope", she whispers slowly to herself. The blind woman whispers to herself.#