She wondered what had become of her.
A mute kind of darkness had settled in-numbing her until she felt nothing at all.
No warmth. No glow.
Not even the comfort of tears.
She was buried beneath her own wreckage.
A sorrow too still, too deep, slowly hollowed her out, long after life had taken her color.
Her voice.
Her name.
There might've been a better way to live-but she never learned how.
This isn't where her story began, but it is where it ends-
in a journal she never meant for anyone to read.
Quietly.
Slowly.
Until she was no longer easy to find.