Pale light streamed into the bathroom. Leaning against the wall, I studied my slender, blue veins.
How would it feel to slice them in just the right way?
I felt myself slipping away again by depression’s deathly tide.
He said that I looked pristine and that he found me interesting. His face lit up when I spoke of my writing. He said he wanted to see a movie with me this weekend, but I am afraid to expect it. I am just as afraid that he won’t text me and that we will never go.
What if our chance meeting at the coffee shop and our blossoming conversation were all for naught?
My mind protects my body from another assault by my own hand. I wipe away my tears, staring blankly at myself in the mirror once again. Hurting so much.
And no one knows.