She sat on the floor of her bedroom, taking the scarf that hung from the rack of scarves behind the door. She wanted to feel the air drain from her lungs again, the feeling of exploding fireworks in her goddamn lungs, working against her methods, trying to keep working. She kept going, and going, and going, feeling the pressure and exhaustion of her lungs failing. She slowly stopped, her lungs grasping for all the air they can get.
And she cried, knowing she would always be too weak to follow through.
