Broken

I can't move. I don't know how long I've been sitting here on the floor. It could have been hours or it could be just minutes, time is all a blur. Everything seems like a blur now.

I can't move. I don't know how long I've been sitting here on the floor. It could have been hours or it could be just minutes, time is all a blur. Everything seems like a blur now.

I think there were people here before but I can't be sure. The movements and sounds had blurred together into a black haze and now everything is grey. The air is stale and there's no sound, everything is silent and still. The silence use to be suffocating, but now I don't feel anything. As I sit here on my bedroom floor it occurs to me that I'm numb. I don't feel a thing and I think I miss the crushing agony that was my only company before, the feeling of my heart being ripped out of my chest. I couldn't breathe, it felt like the oxygen was being sucked out of me and my sobs were drowning out all other sounds, but at least I felt something. Now I'm just empty.

I look in the mirror but I can't see myself. All I see is this girl staring at me. She looks so broken, like one of those old forgotten china dolls. I'm suppose to feel something right? When people see someone who looks so lost and broken their hearts are suppose to go out to them, they're suppose to be sympathetic and try to comfort them. They're suppose to want to take their pain away, right? So how come I don't feel anything? Maybe I'm broken too. What if, what if people don't feel anything for me, like I don't for that girl? What if they see me and just keep walking? Who's going to fix me then? What if I'm too broken to be fixed, like an old vase that has fallen and shattered into thousands of pieces? Am I a broken vase? Are people going to look at me and say "Oh, that's a shame," only to carry on without a care in their lives mere seconds later, as if nothing happened, as if they had never seen me? Do I even want to be fixed?

A hand on my shoulder is what ends my train of thought. I think it is suppose to be comforting but I don't feel it. Nonetheless, my eyes travel from the hand attached to an arm clad in black and stops at a face. He looks familiar, but I can't place a name with the face. You would think that I would remember someone with eyes so full of sorrow and tears but I don't. My gaze travels from his eyes to his mouth in a daze. He's saying something but I can't understand him. Then he stops talking and I can't help but wonder if maybe he noticed that I wasn't listening. He has this unreadable look on his face, I'm trying to decipher it when suddenly I'm in his arms. The contact sends a shock through my body and it feels like I have just been pulled from icy waters because I'm shaking and my face is wet and salty. In that moment everything becomes clear again and the agony is back. It's so much that I think if I wasn't already on the floor I would have collapsed from the force of it all. The air is leaving my lungs again and my heart feels like its being ripped out but it's different this time. He's holding me, telling me it will be alright, he isn't leaving like everyone else did. He's staying, he's fixing me.

It is now, in his arms, when I finally realize that I want to be fixed. I don't want to be broken, I don't want to be that girl in the mirror anymore, it hurts too much. I don't think he wants me to be broken either, because he is here and he's holding me, rocking us both gently back and forth. It's comforting and after a while the pain begins to subside a little, he's making it go away, and for the first time since mom died I feel like things will be okay. I may be cracked but I won't be broken anymore.

The End

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