Every morning wakes her up with the feeling of imploding chest and ribs cutting the warm, subtile tissue of lungs, destroying the carefully planned highway of the veins.
The eyes barely even see, eyelids burns with salt cracking into the very mild, thin skin, so human starts to remember of the every single cut and injure done in the fragile nude coat on the face. The lower eyelids of the both eyes hurts especially. The throat is so dry. It's hard to breath, also. And to speak. There exists kind of the self-taming barrier inside of her mouth or maybe somewhere else that consumes all the words before they are being said.
The brain considers every sentence, catalyzes, puryfies and distills it as many times as there is no more letter to say.
There is even noone to speak to, though.
At least, everything stays inside the skull, the used nerves, the dark matter builds up the bump in the throat, charges the collarbones.
After the sleepless night, alarm clock wakes her up very early, before the laughing sun rises and its ironic rays will mock on the regrettable mankind for the next day.
There is a lot to do. It starts with taking some drugs to carry up used, sick body. Later shower. And tricks in front of the mirror. 'You must smile.' - she tries to command the tired face. - 'Just smile.' - she tries to convince both herself and the hopeless mouth. ' Smile, for fuck's sake...'- she tries to stretch the lips into a smile with her two fingers. Tears appeared on the paper-thin, diseased, pale skin.
And breakfast. And work. Breakfast for six people. Breakfast for everyone of them - different, everyone likes something different - wrapped up for work and school. And coffee. And tea. And clothes. All ironed. Later laundry. And lunch. And tidying up. And dinner. And cooking, and shopping, and scrubbing, and embroidering. And studying. And vacuuming. And all over again. And all the time in company of the pain. Hurting, crushing hands and legs, body recalling lifeless bag of bones.
At the end of the afternoon some food eaten quickly, more medicines and more black thoughts. All the time filled up with work - too hard for sick body - and bitter thinking - killing for much more ill brain. Regrets, regrets, regrets all the way. Everything hidden, everything stays inside.
You may not say nothing to nobody. Because they will not understand. Also, because they don't care.
Why did You not say noone never what You think, what You feel, what hurts You so much?
Firstly, because You can not say never. If people know something about You, Your weak points, they can shatter You easily. Secondly, You must always stay strong. For any price. Calmly and quietly consume You own pain inside just like the flawless marble statue.
Okay, but that was about enemies.
And the ones You love?
There things look even worse. They also annihilate You slowly sipping the breath from You mouth.
I always thought everything I say doesn't matter. I never wanted to disturb with my problems, with my presence. To impose myself.
So they said You didn't care. But You cared. Like noone else. You do, just You don't say. You work hard as a madman for the one You love, You look after when He's got flu and don't sleep. You help Him in his school and cook anything He wishes. You try to guess what does He think, before He say a word. And You listen. You always listen.
And then think and think and think. How to help. How to protect. How to cheer up.
And You always help. And You always protect, just like the formidable bandog or sphinx or the lion. And You cheer up. Not with the empty words, but the hug or the kiss or the touch.
You don't say a word, but You long for a single letter from His mouth, You desire to know his thoughts. You remeber every sentence and every sound. Every situation. You always feed Yourself just with that.
I always pretend to not care and then think all night long about. Till I die, I will think about every single word, every single gesture. If I did enough? Did I say to much? Or maybe not enough at all?
Did he know? Did he understand? Did he care?
Did I deserve to be with Him?
He's litteraly stuck in Your head all the time. You can not sleep despite You barely can walk because of overstrain. Food seems to be tasteless. And all the other things- meaningless. Only He, His, Him. Declination of love.
And that fucking knowledge it's not love. It's more kindness or favor than love. And there is no passion. And You can not do nothing to change it, however You cut Your own guts in effort. That terrible, burning sensation of despair and shame. No, not the sweet flame of passion. Urgent, killing helplessness. The bone-breaking feeling of despair, infinite love and admiration to Him that brings You on Your knees. You accept to do everything. EVERYTHING He asks. Including fading away. Always for Him. Everything for His happiness.
Yeah, You always sacrifice. Others speak and seduce. You can not. you're like a speechless sheep. Or an always faithfull, silent dog. Or great school buddy. Or a friend. Or loving and hardworking sister. Or always forgiving mother.
That's why You're always left aside. That's why You always lose.
You feel like Your skeleton collapses just like the house of cards. The stomach fills up with turmoil, troubles crush the kidneys. And You can not do nothing. You were not good enough, You can not change Him. Instantly appears the herd of annoying doubts: Maybe I did not do enough? Did I miss, overlook something?
I was so close. Almost.
You stupid, pitiful girl.
The worst is, He's not guilty.
You and Your fucking stubborn heart.
Every thought stabs like a knife trembling weak chest. Heart explodes from despair and overthinking with every bloodbeat and in the same time implodes because of the yearning.
The awareness You were never together. It was just Him and ever lonely You desperately trying to make it real.
The thinking like this kills and catches You into the trap, into the never-ending maze.
The maze for rats to die.
The way she thinks and talks with herself because there's noone left.
When she told once, she suffer, he laughed and said: 'You grumble.'
She bite her lip and looked on the floor. And she said nothing she thinks or feels nevermore.
That bitter taste of the sacrificed dreams and laughed-out-loud ideals. Maybe that tames the tounge?
Well, it work's like that when someone get used that You never have problems... He- yes, You- what kind of problems could You have? Hahahahaha, brilliant joke.
That's the way she turned. Front to side. and then side to back. Back to all the world, crouching into herself to noone can ravage her anymore. Everything, both good and bad hidden into the bones, into the chest, lock up under teeth and tuck around the silent tounge. The ears lying on the neck, just like the angry dog or the wolf ready to the offensive. Feeling ugly, insecure and just like she's worth nothing.