The alarm clock rang obnoxiously loud, for she was already wide awake, had been for the past twenty-six hours. It had been one hell of a whirlwind; the emotions she felt now were unique and she could never name them, only describe them. "Empty, numb." She would etch down into her notebook. "What rhymes with numb?" She tried to be so poetic, sometimes to the point where it drove her mad. "I feel like I've downed a bottle of ***." She tried rhyming it. Most of the time, the pages she had etched into would be thrown out or put into envelopes that were never meant to be mailed. Her life consisted of the unknown and the known together, which if you don't know, is horrific. "What if, what if." She'd write.
"What if he misses me too?"