It happened again.

She cries.
She writes.
She feels even worse.
She feels lost.
Like life is meaningless.
Like no one would miss her.

No one cares.
No one notices.
No one will know.

She fills pages and pages.
Not able to stop.
Tears running down her face.

But, eventually she does.
Either her hand hurts or she is too tired.
She doesn't know.
It doesn't matter, shes too tired to keep playing this stupid game.
It keeps happening.
But why?

Is it her fault or theirs?
Who's to blame?

She thinks.
She sits in silence.
She tilts her head up.
She cleans herself up.
She feels empty.
But also doesn't.
She doesn't know what this feeling is.

Acceptance?
Understanding?
Strength?

She doesn't know.
Doesn't care.

She just wants it to be over.
For this to stop happening.

But she knows it won't.
It never will.

But she gets up anyways.
Grabs the papers, files them away.
Never to be looked at again.
Yet never thrown away.

She gets dressed.
Gets ready for her plans made the night before.

She grabs her coat and is about to walk out the door.
But catches a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror before she leaves.

She fixes her hair, checks her makeup.

You couldn't even tell she had cried an hour ago.

Then she looks at her eyes in the reflection.
And she says to herself,
"You are strong. You are beautiful. You can do this."
She puts on her best smile, looking happy as can be.
Then she walks out the door.

As if nothing ever happened.