the state of numbness.

from Pexels;
from Pexels;

In a black and white scheme, she filters the world. She only sees what she wants to and blurs out the rest. She tattoos her skin with her flaws, the lovely tree design on her back, sheltering her spine and the scars she hides, and she does not share every story she has with somebody she sleeps with. In her mind, there is only the state of numbness and melancholy, even when he, the lonesome man she slept with, but stayed, has tried salvation that she has rejected. This is how she lives.

On her makeshift bed, where she makes memories of sex to drain her elusive ideas of death, she drinks her glass of whiskey. She is old enough to finish a bottle, if twenty is the right number for the solemn alcohol. In her thirteenth age, her parents traveled far from her, but they placed her in a house filled with children alike with her situation, and that makes everything just fine. But she never forgets—the pain, the tears and the howls at night. She let them take her down and, together, they built their own family.

Without knowing how the letters work, she has survived the unwell battle of her youth. She is a mature, young lady with thorns in her heart and a void in her mind. She does not need anybody to fill her empty spaces, but she wants them to satisfy her hunger—her only food to survive.

She picks up the euros her customer left. He had the nerve to drop some coins, to tell her about her current skin—as if she still does not know. She slides the door open and walks to the balcony. At least the old man rented a top-class hotel, at the top floor with the magnificent view of the city below, so she is grateful, at least.

It is already past midnight and he told her she could stay until seven in the morning, but she will not; she will gather her torn clothes later at three. The tiny, glimmering lights of the city hypnotize her frail mind. She wonders if she can live between its warm promises; if she can change the colors from yellow to white without flickering. But she closes her eyes and breathes as her lips tremble, and that is enough to know the answer.


Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.


let me hold your words before you leave;

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