there's a girl, and she walks, lives, and breathes a line. she named this line, it's name is fine.
to her left, it's pink, it's where the happiness goes.
to the right, it's black, that's where the sadness goes.
she frequents the line, but sometimes, the voices from the pink pull her over. while she's there, she has fun. it'd be hard not to. she laughs, she smiles, she jokes, she enjoys her time in the pink. but the air there is too sweet, and it fills her lungs with cotton candy, and she has to return to her line so she can breathe again.
sometimes, she hears the voices from the black, and other times it's the voices from the pink, but eventually she's tipped over the edge into the black, the pit. it's lonely there, full of hissing voices and relentless thoughts, tear drops and clouds of doubt. sometimes she enjoys her time there, as it gives her time to think, but other times she wants out and can't seem to claw her way up the pit to her line. the air there is toxic, and it fills her lungs with black gunk, and if she's not careful it will capture her heart and never let it go.
she has to find the ladder so she can return to her line, the place where the air is perfect and makes her numb, the place where she doesn't have to think or feel or care, she can just exist. she likes her line. she prefers it. it's easier to just say "I'm fine."
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