Little Girl Blue - 𝐖𝐋𝐖

𝐈. Philia- TwentyThree

The day was nothing short of exhausting. Emotionally, I felt like something big and daunting was after me. Physically, I felt I would crumble.

The weather added to the funk.

For the first time in weeks it rained—flooded. Disastrous to no end. Blocking up the streets, pilling up mounds of litter and mud until it just made the town plain ugly. It was dark and the air was moist and thick and bleak. It felt ridiculous to inquire anything outside of your homes. You'd have to last on whatever water you had and begin fixing meals that consisted on canned foods and rice.

Being a coastal city, this wasn't anything new. The locals practically saw this as a time to rejuvenate. Possibly for the awaiting fall when things would get better again. Even Jane, firstly upset her garden would be submerged, came to a realization that her summer crop was finished and the rain would only prepare the ground for the colder season's produce.

Helplessly—disgustingly, optimistic. A huge turning point from the attitude she normally carried. It was as if our talk at the window carried no importance. I didn't doubt she was resting at night while I replayed every word, every touch.

I like you, I like you too.

And then nothing.

But time. And again, what would that allow us to do?

I tried not to dwell. At some point I knew I was doing it on purpose. Making myself sad, eating slower, lesser. As if my feelings alone could make me full. There was something comforting about sadness even if the thin line began to disperse and became madness. There was something awfully poetic about your subconscious proving yourself right.

Stupid to think something was going to happen. It had to be the pity she had for me. I'm sure of it.

Those were my hourly mantras I pounded at myself, bruising me from the inside. It was destructive indeed but I had known nothing less. Again, that very thought brought more shame. More tears. More urges to scream and throw myself into something heavy. It was painfully perfect how things came about.

Until further notice, that continuous cycle of self scrutiny never faltered. Unfortunately it showed on my face too. Even with trying, my heart was tattooed on my sleeve.

"Are you alright, dear?" It was an older man. Kind eyes, drooping face. Glasses that looked made for a doll. He was wearing a heavy rain coat and boots. The little hair he did have was sticking to his skin. An aroma of worn books and mothballs surrounding him. But that smile was beautiful, nostalgic. Like he had been waiting to give it someone all day even if it was missing a few teeth, yellowing.

"I'm doing fine sir, and you?" I had to remembering my brief training on curtisy; smile and nod.

He shook his head, shoving the few essentials he had on to the conveyor belt. "Just making sure I make it back okay. I'm staying with my daughter for the fourth. Supposed to barbecue and light sparklers but darn nature had other plans." He said so happily, that enthused calmness to his voice never wavering. He leaned over, as if he were trying to see all what I was doing whilst ringing him up, whispering, "I know you're not alright."

The occasional beep flared in my eardrums. Flashlight, cord. "I'm fine, sir." Milk, bread. "Really I am." Coffee, bandages.

He sucked his teeth, twisting around on his toes that caused an obnoxious streak to assault the tiled floors. "You're almost in tears." He noticed.

That made it worse. I sniffled, "That'll be $42.63. Cash or card?"

"Damn capitalism." He remarked, fishing around in his pocket. "Is it your boyfriend, you all broke up?"