Days and nights are no longer wars when you don't care but the thing about not caring is that you don't even blink at the image of your body sleeping six feet below.
Not caring is what holds you head down when crossing the road instead of looking both ways. Not caring is not showering for days on end. It's sealing your front door shut in fear that you'll so much as feel a breeze come through.
It's living like you're already dead. Practicing if you will. You don't even cry anymore but your pillow remains wet from it's refusal to absorb anymore tears.
She felt this way.. Nevertheless she still floats just outside the station with the rain crashing against her eyelashes yet her stubborn eye lids will not flutter under the touch of the cold water. Just as she was prepared enough to walk into the platform and await her train, a vibrant figure appears in front of her with a warm look.
"Excuse me, but you look like you need this more than me." A young man smiles as he extends his arm to reveal a small umbrella. She smiles thankfully but her face drops back to it's former state so fast you could easily have missed it if a raindrop were to fall in-between the two.
"Are you sure?" Were the first words she's spoken in three weeks that weren't 'Need any help?' or 'Sorry, they're sold out'. The man nodded, a smile still playing at his lips. "I'll give you my number so we can hopefully meet again and I can pick up my umbrella" There was but an ounce of flirtation underneath his confident tone which seemed to have somewhat rubbed off on the girl.
"I'm sure it can be arranged" Surprising herself with her words but grabbing the paper with an 11 digit number on nonetheless, she was soon on her train again.
YOU ARE READING
Complexion -Katie Barrett
PoetryA story of a woman facing inner battles as well as a toxic relationship written in a poetic form.
