This is a stupid story with a stupid plot and stupid lines. But it’s 4:30 in the morning and I’m…I don’t know what. This isn’t really worth your time and you don’t have to read it and the only reason it’s on here is because I just can’t bear for this to simply be there on my C Drive, and not because it’s any good, but simply because its 4:30 in the morning and I’m lost.
Every morning I look in the mirror and see tired eyes. I see a girl who doesn’t seem all that happy. She looks cranky and depressed and wakes up at 11 in the morning on weekends. She’s not me.
She slowly brushes her teeth and then washes her face. Her finger inch up towards her mouth and pull slightly at the sides, first downwards and then slightly upturned, like she’s deciding who she wants to be today. She wants to turn the sides down but she pulls them up. It takes time, but she finally gets it right. And then she focuses on the eyes. Tries to make them genuine, tries to make them twinkle, but gives up. But that’s okay, because she looks happy now. She’s not me either.
She did this for a few days. And they turned to weeks. One day, she fell ill. She was at the hospital one day, in her room and she woke up at 6 in the morning. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel tired; she didn’t feel the pain that the cannula was inflicting on her wrists. She got up and looked out the hospital window. Her mom was asleep in the other bed in the room. Outside, it was soft, shiny and green. Bright, happy green, the kind that only surfaces after an early morning shower which washes the trees pure. It started to drizzle slightly and she stuck her face out as far as she could. And smiled.
She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and looked in the mirror. Happy eyes. Neutral mouth, but happy, twinkling eyes. She was me. I was me again.
Every morning I look in the mirror, praying that I won’t find dead eyes again. I see a tired girl. But her eyes are genuine. She works all night and wakes up at 11 in the morning, but that’s okay. She’s still me.