To cry.
To weep.
To sob.
To smile.
To laugh.
To giggle.
To shout.
To scream.
To shriek.
To remain silent.
To be quiet.
To stare motionlessly.
I, no longer have the privilege of doing so.
I, no longer trust myself enough to feel anything.
I, no longer am real.
For now.
She pushed the door open, her palms sweating. She opened her pocket mirror and laughed nervously at the sight of herself. Taking a deep breath, she walked in. As soon as she stepped in, her feet took her 80 miles per second straight into sanctuary. She shut the door hastily and locked it behind her, heaving a relieved sigh. Never thinking, not at all. Because thinking meant that she acknowledged the fact. And she didn't want to. Someone knocked. She opened the door. And she knew she could avoid it no longer.
Voices rose. Questions flew. Feelings trampled. Quiet sobs. All in 10 minutes.
Quit asking. You know the answers.
