Scribble: Another one of those streams...

      She walked with moonlit eyes, or so they'd say if she ever kept them open or free. Hiding behind thick bangs that swayed when she walked, they remained a lunar mystery, a glowing reminder of the brightness inside.
      She walked onto streets paved with broken stones and the tears of old men, dreams long forgotten and lost to time. Yet, every so often she would bow her head, bangs threatening to reach down to the ground, as though paying respect to what was lost before she was even conceived as an idea. She walks, solemn, keeping the moon enclosed in threaded jail cells with each step.
      But I, I with nothing more to do than wax poetic on the midnight wanderings of the eccentric, step beside, trying to get a passing glance at what ocular marvels lie hidden in the dark.
      For a brief moment, I see the glow. And then, in a heartbeat, she is gone, leaving nothing in her wake save the full moon above, suddenly free of cloudy oppressors.
      So I walk...