Maybe it's the way she can stare at the edge of the coffee table for hours without blinking.
It could also be the way her lips will go days without parting.
Or maybe it's the way she loses track of the last day she slept.
She doesn't recognize herself as a person, but a walking body.
With one pull of a string you can unwrap her only to find out she was hollow framework.
Like an unfinished structure.
A tired, silent hull refusing any fulfilling substance.