Imago

She woke up. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, but she couldn't wipe the sleep from her head. Longing for the world she had left behind, she got up and got dressed for the day. It was cold outside, so she pulled up her hood and walked to the bus stop. She waited alone with only the wind blowing around her until the bus came.

She had a bit of a headache and she felt a bit sick, but she got off the bus and walked to the library. She wandered through the shelves looking for something interesting to read and when she found one, she sat down in a chair nestled among the books. Even though there were people in the library, she felt very alone. She curled up in her chair and read.

She put the book back on the shelf and returned to the cold wind. The people in the books did many interesting things, but all she ever did was stand outside alone in the cold. Her head ached dully but she wasn't sick anymore. She walked over to a small cafe and ordered a sandwich. She couldn't make out the server's face or the voices of the chatting people around her. She ate and felt a bit sick. She sat still until her stomach calmed down.

She took the bus back to her house and walked inside. She looked longingly at her bed and sat down next to a small coffee table. She looked at her phone and wanted to text one of the few people she knew, but she didn't. She didn't know what to say to them. She looked at her computer lying haphazardly on the table but didn't open it. There wasn't any point to doing so.

She wanted to go back to sleep but it was still too early. She'd feel like a bad person if she slept while the sun was still in the sky. She wanted to eat but she didn't want to feel sick again. And while there was plenty of food around, she didn't feel like preparing it. She wondered what life would be like if she was one of the people from her books and laughed bitterly.

The sun had set but she was still sitting next to her table. She didn't want to go to sleep with such a muddled head. She didn't want the muddle to enter her dreams. They were the only things she had. She looked at her phone again and put it on the table. Even if she knew what to say, she wouldn't text anyone. It was better that way. Whenever she tried to reach out she always regretted it.

She sat in the dark alone with her thoughts. What was the point of doing anything? What was the point of doing nothing? Whether she did something or didn't do anything, nothing turned out right. She berated herself as she cried softly. Eventually her tears and her sadness stopped, leaving nothing at all.

Her phone hadn't rung even once, but that wasn't strange. People don't reach out to people who don't reach out. Her loneliness was her own fault. Her sadness was her own fault. Her sleepiness was her own fault. If someone seeks solace only in their dreams, how could they ever truly be awake?

She went to sleep wondering what she could do. She went to sleep knowing that she couldn't do anything. She went to sleep knowing that anything she tried to do would fail. She went to sleep knowing that anything she didn't try to do would fail. She went to sleep knowing she was wrong. She went to sleep wanting to apologize to everyone she had ever known. She went to sleep.