She doesn’t write that much anymore.
The flame inside her slowly burnt out.

She didn’t know how to swim but she loved the ocean.
She once jumped into it, not thinking about drowning.
But she was too eager to get to the bottom.
Death didn’t bother her.
But the fear of emptiness. She was scared to find a empty space below.
An empty space she thought was to fill her up.
With anything.

She’s desperate. She know she wants to do something but can’t
Maybe she can, but how? How exactly can she do it?

Through words on her paper and through her head.
She quietly whisper a familiar name.

Long forgotten.

Yet, it helped.