She looked up at the vast blackness that was polluted by the city and blanketed by the stars ready to make a wish before deciding against it as many were already dead. She sat, blowing smoke from her lungs out of the window and wafting it away when the wind blew it back into her bedroom so that her parents wouldn't smell it in the morning when she woke. The cold air stun her slightly salted cheeks. Tired eyes hurting from the stress of being alive in a world she felt unconnected to.
The night before she had climbed into her parents' bed and they had held her tight and she made muffled cries into her mother's chest and her father had sleepily turned around and patted her head and kissed her nose like he did when she was little. She had nodded and sobbed harded when they asked her if she was lonely. They told her to just keep her head down and concentrate on work and she said "I already am, that's my problem". They said that she was rare and precious and one day would find other people like her and also how they never really had many freinds when they were younger. But that only made her feel worse.
She felt so small. So insignificant. Yet had the problems of the whole universe balanced on top of piles of unread books. And like everything that could even possibly bother her, mattered so much towards the fate of the world when in reality, out her huge bubble of insecurity: no one really cared at all.
