Metanoia

Bones

A girl is standing in front of a mirror.
Tears drip down her face, flowing into the cracks and crevices that time creates.
Her smile is broken too, but that's from hate.
She doesn't see enough bones.
To be specific, she can't count her ribs.
Of course, they're there.
But she can't count them.
What she can do is feel them.
One by one, finally stopping at the fifth rib.
There, she feels a rhythm.
Something beating and beating and beating to try to keep her alive, even though she hasn't been treating it right.
But she ignores it.
After all, she can't see enough bones.