She’d forgotten. No, she never did. But yet, she never showed. The nights that went on sleeplessly. The time she would spend staring at the empty space, hours and hours, days and days. Yet, the mornings she would pretend to wake up and act like everything’s just okay. The plastic smile on her face throughout the days. No one knows, no one ever knew. The agony that throws her off-balance, throws her crumbling into a heap on the floor every single day, again and again, till she gasps and cry out for breath, for someone to rescue her, to unchain her from this mess that she had own self created. The deep red marks that she had done unto herself, scratching and scratching, till the skin falls off and blood oozes out slowly, gradually, till it dries up. But she’ll scratch again. And again, continuously, unceasingly, till she crumple and collapse from exhaustion. But tomorrow, she’ll scratch again.

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