when they said everything would work out in the end, they were lying.
so this dorky obsession of mine is to carry around a composition book with me everywhere. this is something short i wrote a while back.
9.10.08
She cut her hair that day, standing before the mirror, watching as a lock of brown landed on the countertop, blowing lightly, then lying still. She felt better, knowing that she could, for once, experience loss without feeling pain. She wondered why she had to be such a coward the rest of the time, staring back at her shifted reflection, forcing a crooked smile across pale cheeks and chapped lips. A curling strand dangled in front of her eye, then made its sudden yet gentle fall towards the countertop.
Much better, she thought.
She woke up the next morning; her roommate soon awoke, too, to the sound of cracking mirror glass.
