She would tell me how she felt on certain days.
Some days she wouldn't, but I knew when I looked at the colour of her nail polish.
When her fingernails were yellow I knew she was doing okay.
She would tell me she felt warm instead of cold like on most days.
When her fingernails had clear sparkles on them, I knew she was
She told me she couldn't wait to finish her book.
I tried to understand her.
But this was the only way I could.
I saw her again but this time she didn't speak.
her fingers were in her jacket.
She looked straight ahead and never turned her head once to me.
We sat for hours until she got up, and took her hands out of her pockets.
She told me she wanted to die.
Her fingernails were blue.