The room is white.
White as snow. No. It is not that white. It is not a beautiful impurity. It does not glow with cold strength. It does not hold fragility in its arms. It is clean. It is perfect. It is sterile.
It is sterile.
She sits up slowly, and her arm automatically moves to assist her. It lifts for a moment, and then she allows it to fall back with a dull thud. Her other arm is numb with imagined pain, and she looks over curiously.
With a quick pull, she tears the needle out. It slides free with a feeling that makes her stomach churn. The needle is slightly bloody, and the liquid still drips with a continuous plip on her bare leg. She cringes at the sight and tosses it away, staining the perfect sheets red.
Swinging her legs with a quick motion, she gets out of bed. Her head is now spinning. Her bare feet touch the cold floor and her knees wobble uncertainly.
Her heart skips a beat as she looks around the room. She cannot find a single i
Coming BackYou looked at me with sunset eyes
Teeming with an ocean’s depth
Waves were crashing down your cheeks
Tears you should have never wept
And I heard a sound I’ll not forget
The slamming front door as you left
In shock I waited as tragedy unfurled
Denial settled into the silence of my world
Without a glance or shallow sigh
You left me here with no goodbye
But in my heart there grew an ache
A pain that, most nights, keeps me awake
And now I finally realize
What I saw in those shining eyes
Not the sunset; the sunrise
So this was never a goodbye
This was letting go.
And now I’m coming back.
july seventeenththe receipts are always inaccurate.
the ink runs in four directions and the machine makes thinking near impossible, but mindless work is good for the ill minded. coins clinking and cogs turning has a magic of its own, and bruised fingers learn to type at an inhuman pace to pass the time. her job is nonspecific; she has frizzy hair and never smiles, but she shows up for work on time, and that's enough for her.
armed with a name tag and a blank face, each day she stands in line to get the same order. black coffee and a piece of bread, lightly toasted. the coffee is always stale, and she never eats the bread, but she can never bring herself to order just that. employee discounts are meant to be used, she thinks, as she crumbles the pieces in her hand and spreads them near the trashcan on the far right of the entrance for the birds to eat. she doesn't know that the birds never come anymore, but she knows that nothing can sing in the darkness quite like them.
when she stands, her coffee spi
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