She left. She got better. She was doing great and she checked herself out. Not even a wave goodbye was give to me. She just left. I stayed. I stayed hidden away from her.
She came back. She's different. Her colors aren't as bright. She seems aware of what she's doing and how she acts. She does it differently. She used to sleep all day when not doing required activities. Now she keeps her door open but lies in her bed with her nose in a book.
She never cries. You can tell that she wants to, you can see it in her eyes. The tears welling up when she's been left alone with her thoughts too long, or when she is ignored, or clearly reminded of something that hurts.
She knows me. She ignores me; pretends I'm not there, but she doesn't mind that I observe her. She ignores me but she still likes me.
She never talked last time, now all she does is laugh and smile. She doesn't like it though. Her laugh is real but so is the absences of life in her eyes. Her smile is weak.
She lets me read her work after free write. I'm the only of person she let's read it, because she knows I won't bring it up.
She doesn't want sympathy or to be told it gets better or that life has its ups and downs. She just wants it all to stop. If life is a wild rollercoaster she would like to get off with a full refund. Comedy seems to be a bit of another outlet for her.
She's not the same person I met back in fall. She still has color but it's faded.

Tuesday, April 11th, 2017
- Matthew Blake