Presently

She had created, within herself, a whirlwind of possibilities. It swirled and twirled and dashed and destroyed, leaving nothing but shattered illusion of reality in its wake. You could see it billowing through her soulful eyes, hear it crashing through her voice. As she breathed, it grew stronger. The air that she gasped steadily increased upon itself, never escaping the prison of her mind, never growing smaller. It ballooned and swelled and snarled and gnashed its terrible teeth and roared its terrible roar- it wanted the space of her soul's home. It wanted everything- her heart, her lungs, her mind- and in the end, it wanted nothing more than her lifeblood, the flow of her existence that sustained her day by unforgiving day. She laid in bed each night, feeling the possibilities overtake her. They were a physical, monstrous being, combined as Medusa's snakes. Varying by difference, diligent in purpose. Simply to destroy the present. End the existing in constant hope for a better tomorrow. Take away opportunities at hand by dangling the enticing, nonexistent ones before her imagination. The donkey's carrot. To her, these were not the gales of destruction. Oh, no. They were the supportive winds, the ones that kept her upright and pushed her towards new things. Shoved her towards forgetfulness. Forced her into the greener side of the grass. And so she was conscious. And so she died. Bound by the flaxen cord of the  possibilities of tomorrow.