Bare scars on bare feet on melting snow. Red hands cupped around red lips. Chapped and sore. Broken and ignored. Sounds familiar to her. The pale girl, the frail girl. Black hair and black lungs. Black heart and black tongue. Eyes closed as tight as they go. Harsh winds blow past, nipping at her naked skin. A street lamp flickers and the stars fade out. The moon no longer smiles, and the comets no longer come out. Night burns her more than any scorching sun. Freedom seems much farther away. Father than when she was a kid. Imaginary friends, imaginary worlds. Two rats, two turtles. Tutus and sparkling crowns. Spinning round and round. Until the world felt out of place. Soon she was the one who didn't belong. Soon she was the one who hadn't all along. She stood frozen. Like the icicles above her head. She stood frozen, because it was all that she had. All that made her...her.
January 25, 2012