her hair was a mess like her mind,
and she always smiled like it'd kill her if she didn't, because she had too many dark times to ignore the days when it was okay. her hair was curly and wavy and straight in some places, and it never looked the same when she woke up in the morning. she didn't ever try to do anything with it. she liked to sit in the dark and look at the pattern on her ceiling and clench a fist in her shirt or her sheets or her skin until her mind stopped spinning and her thoughts settled down and her hair dried from the tears that had made their way inside. she always laughed like it might be the last time she ever did, because she thought too often about what it'd be like if it was, in fact, her last day on earth. what it'd be like if she was the reason she was leaving. she was no different than all of the other people who were unhappy and told her so. she didn't deserve to die. so she didn't. she just kept laughing and smiling and wondering about her hair, kept crying in the dark and, mostly, tried her best to keep going.
@
