-she pretends nothing's wrong, even though her eyes are bloodshot and face is swollen.
-she doesn't want to be talked to, but longs for some comforting attention.
-she bursts the second someone sees her upset.
-she hates every guy in the world, even though it's not one man's fault.
-in that moment she'd rather die, because living feels too good for the likes of her.
-she repeats a melancholy song a hundred times on end, but also finds solace in silence.
-she expects her man to read her mind, even though she gives him no clue as to what is on it.
-she takes it upon herself to carry the weight of her problems in a heavy sack, refusing assist even though the contents spill over.
-in the grande scheme of things, she understands her problem(s) is just a spec, but seeks to justify why she's deserving of such excruciating pain.
-she longs to cry out her sorrows to the world, but in fear of uninvited attention, keeps it bottled inside.
-she convinces others that on any other day, she's completely fine and things like this would never get to her. today is just an exception and won't last very long.
-though problems may be beyond her control, she'll find a way to feel at fault because she refuses to believe luck, karma, or destiny would grant her such a fate without reason.
-the person who knows her the best suffers bullets from her wounds as an innocent bystander. she will apologize later, but at that point, she feels it will be too late. Her image has been tainted.
-the day goes on around her and she goes about her tedious tasks so as not to draw a pity party. But her face sends out an invitation to everyone but her.
-she remains in her same dressed up outfit throughout and even into sleep because if this moment happens to be her last, one part of her should be decent.
-she whips out a bottle of vodka. she considered the wine she's been aging until a special occasion. or her last favorite bottle of beer. She was close to wasting a good drink. but chose vodka; not because it's a lesser quality of preference, but because she hates the taste. the flavor should pair her mood, and vodka wipes the sting away faster.
-she thinks this is either the best or worst night to take up alcoholism.
-she wishes for that one person to be at her side, consoling her. she might not know who that is, exactly, but she may just end up with the wrong person because she decided to be proactive in feeling better instead of giving herself time to grieve.
-she wonders why you didn't call/text. she refuses to be the first to break the ice but will end up doing so anyway. it'll be a comment of something random and seemingly playful. Or something vague with an option of two choices, but really one.
-she pretends to have drank a lot to justify her ridiculous behavior, but perhaps probably DID drink that much as a result of loss in body water from crying.
-she might be at a bar appearing happy go lucky or dancing.
-she might indulge in the first male stranger's friendly conversation. But will reject any hint of advances so she feels powerful.
-she might be at home. Painting. Drawing.
-or she might be slowly falling asleep
-no matter what she does, who she's with, she feels alone. and probably wouldn't prefer it any other way.
vulnerably,
sad robot
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