Five years ago, Ronald came into her life. He was what you would call her ray of sunshine. Her first love. Her first real friend. A lot of her firsts. He robbed her of a lot of firsts, too. He stole her breath, her heart. Her mind was still finding its way back to her. And yet, even as she thinks of those good times, she can't help but think that maybe it was pure bad luck that led her to him.

A year ago, Ronald turned his back on her. Maybe she was too bashful. Maybe she shouldn't have said "no" when he asked to kiss her. Maybe she should have kept that uncomfortable silence, because the one she has now is something that is still foreign, something she'll never get used to. There are things that she'll never get used to, even when they cover her and touch her all over all day, every day, for months and months on end. The only way to get through the day is to break down the day into hours, the hours into minutes, the minutes into seconds, and to bear each second, waiting, pretending that there isn't a stabbing feeling into her chest that threatens to tear it apart. There are days when she can see their memories in the hallways, the times when he told her a stupid joke and she laughed anyway, and then he'd say that her sense of humor was absolutely horrible. She laughed at that too, and then he'd glare at her. Those days, she'd think that the memories were better off suffocating her, and she'd think that maybe it wasn't worth trudging through the days half-dead, but even as she thought that something was wrong with her, that she was somehow born wrong, defective, she wouldn't find the courage to end it all. It's a kind of bravery, she thinks, to be able to finish off one's suffering. She doesn't have it. So all she can do is let the days drag on, and hope that things will change.

But things don't change like that. All the hope in the world won't do anything at all if nothing is born from such hope. So she ends up thinking that holding onto such hope is useless, and yet, she can't find courage to let it go. She is a coward, she thinks. Her life is hopeless; she is hopeless. Yet, there is a certain beauty in this girl, her ability to trudge on, to be able to bear such sorrow and keep going. A broken spirit, held together with Post-It strength glue. Tugging it together, a daily routine that doesn't seem to help, yet it makes all the difference.