Here; In a dream.

I sit alone and I eat my blueberry muffin alone and I long for days long past. My mother works in the garden and I sit alone in my kitchen. The television, on in the background. News stories from foreign countries and I chew away, feigning indifference. I sip on a cup of bath temperature tea. I hear my mother call my name, but it is very far away. I stand up, I feel dizzy and outside of my body. The walls are too yellow, the sun is too bright. I walk up to my room, away from the noise of the lawn mowers and children playing in the sunlight.

I reach my room and your name pops into my head. What you took from me, it is irreplaceable. I open my bedroom door. I stare into the mirror and I cannot recognize the face staring back at me. Hopeless, immortal, inconsequential. I forget what loneliness feels like; I now have only ice in my veins. I pick up a pair of scissors from my night stand. Cool and crisp, like that November evening when you sold my soul. When your voice led me astray, into the clean, calm air, and I was hoping for more. Snip snip snip. A few feathery pieces of blonde hair fall to the floor. I am dazzled by the way they drift lightly, as if defying gravity.

I see that my masterpiece is ragged, unprofessionally done, a mess. I do not care. I look different. Feel different. I am different.

I crawl under my sheets although it is nearly two in the afternoon. I sift myself against the cool sheets, my soft pillow, cuddling me back. I hear footsteps on the stairs. I picture you, coming into my room, out of your cell and back into my life and my mind and you tell me I look ugly and I tell you that I am, it’s true.

You walk away. You are only a breeze, as the door closes behind you. A sad melody plays from my ballerina jewelry box. Strangers try to fix me. I am unfixable. Because I do not want help.