Short Story - Creative Writing

I thought it had all changed, I thought she was back to normal, back to life, reality. That was until I got home the afternoon. She was sat there, in the nude, back towards me, the sheets dropped over her soft plus skin, her glossy waved hair pinned back with her cream pearl grip. Frozen like a beautiful sculpted statue, with just the slight movement of her shoulders indicating her slow, deep, breathing pattern. She looked desolate and taken away with the unknown. The unknown we call her imagination, a dark deep place that takes her away from life, takes her to a place only one would not want to wish to imagine, were your drained from all emotions. You have no identity and develop a bareness, an emptiness as such, as if you are no longer yourself as a being, but as such you are a progressing piece of architecture. Creating pilers to prop yourself straight, staircase's inside to ensure all parts of you are still connected. Each room or different chamber stores objects, ornaments and belongings to help remind you of who you are, who you once were, who you will be.