She
She always tells herself she's strong. That she'll get through it all. She's not weak, she's the strongest being alive. She always smiles at whatever bad that happens and just walks away. Never really thinks about it much.
She was strong and kind. Lovely and beautiful. She's smart and soft. She's everything that's nice. She's all the shades of nice and all the colors of love.
She was strong. Was strong.
She thought she was strong. But she isn't. Now standing in front of her bathroom mirror with eyes rimmed with tears, she doesn't feel so strong.
"I'm a strong wom-" she stopped halfway through wiping her tears and let more slide down her cheeks, "Oh who am I kidding?" A sob escaped her mouth.
Sitting there on the floor of her bathroom, she doesn't feel so strong, for all that she was, was just an imagine of a woman she could never be.
