She gives herself to Robert Frost and hopes for the best.

The haphazardly hidden sobs permeate through the crepe paper walls. It is a secret that has been passed on like some kind of contagion. Everyone knows, but they prefer to perpetuate the fallacy of oblivion. Yet, the is no utility to acknowledgement anyways, for the line has already been crossed. So, the only thing to do is to play witness. And, as emotions ebb and flow like passing winds, the world continues. It is unfortunate to be the moot point of the world, to be desperate to be made whole by anything. Yet, we all find our ways to pull through. Though they may not be the ways we desired, they nonetheless bring us home. Perhaps, that is all we can hope for, to find something that is almost good. So, gentle resignation shall become a destiny like no other. One day, the ambivalent cries will cease, but they will never be fully cured. Robert Frost was right about the road less traveled; there is always a bitter irony to it.