Yet

Ten to eleven.

Her eyes remained on the clock for a while. As if her mind was still waking up. As if it was hard for her to realize whom she was, and where she was.

Slowly, she sat on her bed, her eyes half opened. She was unable to open them totally right away, because of the typical slight morning puffiness she suffered from.

She yawned once. And yawned once again. She stretched and ran her left hand through her hair. Then she slightly rubbed her eyes.

What was she going to do now?

She asked herself that question every morning. She has been spending years, decades, bored.

She had already tried everything she thought was possible to be distracted, to deceive the boredom that seemed to have taken possession of her being and have became stronger as the days passed.

And everyday it became harder to move, to go outside, to do things.

Television wasn’t distracting anymore, she had already read everything that could be read, and she was no longer able to do a thing with her hands.

All day long she remained seated on the couch in the corner of the room. Not knowing what to do.

She was aware of the fact no one would come to see her, she was alone. With no family, with no friends.

She took a look at the clock.

Ten to eleven.

All of a sudden she remembered something she has read when she was young, something she thought was absurd at the time.

“Time does not go by for old people. It is as if time has stopped.”