Her heart broke into a million jagged pieces. She felt as if it was blown to smithereens, shards of red tissue littering the cold tiles of the bathroom. Gasping for air, she opens the window, the chilly air of January blasting her face, making her feel something while at the same time numbing her. Wordless sobs and shrieks are shouted into the breeze, lost in translation.
What did I do wrong? Why did he go?
A million thoughts swirl around her brain like a cotton-candy machine, raging inside such a small space. After heaving her last shouts, she leaves the window open, the white currents swirling matching what is going on inside her. Without taking off her day clothes, she climbs wordlessly into her queen bed with Egyptian cotton sheets and white down comforter tucked around her. With all her words gone and used up, she tries to drift into a sleep, but fails. Dried mascara is caked in lines down her face, creating a permanent reminder of what tragedy had happened earlier. That night, she can't seem to feel comfortable or cozy. She is suddenly created with the harsh cold of the open window, the blank white walls, and lack of life in her residence. Outside, she hears the noise of the city, the vibrancy of the lights casting a spotlight on all the life that is taking place outside her door. It is almost like the city itself is mocking her--her pain, all the destruction that had taken place that night. Trying desperately to lull herself to the sweet release of sleep, she remembers all the good times, the late summer nights that smelled like hope, the butterflies that hatched in her stomach, and the laughs that left her ribs aching, lungs struggling for air.
She fell asleep with a smile and mascara tears on her face.