Prisoner.

Josephine sits alone in the big blue wooden house. Alone among the antique furnitures, an outmoded but charming decors. There was maybe, at some point in the past a large family leaving here. Or a lonely refined ancestor. Who knows. Now remains only Josephine, among the grand, desolate but lovely house. Wistful she stares in the distance. The sky is grey. The sea is grey. The day is sad. Her mood is sad. When will she leave ? How ? Trapped on her beautiful but desert island, her life is often a prison, a scealed bubble. Eternity is unfathomable and weight heavily on her soul. To die and to live again ! Should she build a raft and challenge the waves ? Defy the circle of the ocean and rejoin the world of the living ? So much efforts... She does not believe she could ever muster the will. Oh that longing, yes... Die Sehnsucht... Aber der Will nein. So, idle, thoughtful, passive, she sits and wait. And wishes. And prays. But hopes not.