"It's not fair"

Hiding away within the brick walls where brown and green vines grow taller than the top windows. Feeling shunned for the way I view everything. If you wanted to have a conversation about peaches and I told you that I would prefer strawberries you would then expect to never see me with anything peach flavoured. I take it apon myself to damage my own heart. No use in going out for ages with someone to find that they prefer peaches. The sneaky little grey nights by the trees.

You would like me to describe some big scandal or an enormous secret lifestyle but I have none to share for I have yet to actually experience any of those things. The whispers I hear coming from the corners of my house would suggest that I am a woman of absolutely no virtue or honor. If they would tighten their coats more I'd barley be able to hear them. Some would say that the life I am lead to live is the most important one for I am a woman with a writer. I am here to inspire so I must not be any old ordinary woman. I must be more than those frozen harsh whispers.

What I do laid up in this house with no honor, sitting by the windows but never in full view. The sky is filled with clouds here and there but it makes for a devine shady spot. Watching the neighbors peach trees grow with such strength, always being watered on time. Grow as big as you can, while you can. The sun shining brightly on the top of your leaves, flowing in the cold wind, knocking what little off you had left to give.

How I wish to be a peach who only had the taste for strawberries. Simple words flow through my simple little curved lips as I gaze at the tree through my fogged window, "It's not fair."

Said to be set in 1826