the threads in her head

Crying-

In the night.

The room was dark, curtains drawn - the only light in the room those myopic eyes saw was a red blur of light from the fan. And that was the only light. The only light.

Just minutes ago tears had started pouring down her face, almost gently, hanging delicately from the corner of eyes the way dew does on the tips of leaves at first, before a blink of an eye sent those warm, slightly salty drops down the countour of her cheek, some going further down to the corner of her lips. The gentle pain in her heart was soothing, the way soft melancholy blues strangely enough.

In her bed, she pondered. "I have grown up," she said in her mind, "I am still a child, but I have grown up, experienced enough of life. Made friends. Lost friends. Broke my heart."

"We have separate paths," he said.

He said, "Truth is, I'm selfish and I don't want to take up the burden."

Some friends drift away gently - they float like a boat on the sea, heading out towards the horizon, on and on, to greater dreams, to bigger things, and before one knows it, the distance is too far, the waters a bluish glassy pane of uncrossableness, and all you see are the sails trembling just that litle for a while more, then it's gone, really gone. These kind, they do return at times, sometimes. For a while. A short while. A friendly chat, some light-hearted jokes, and they depart again. But some others, they pull. Pull apart. Pull out. Out. Out like, like it's some kind of dammed spot. The weak bonds snaps; the strongest one are pulled, broken, torn apart. Pulling - they're the type that hurts the most.

The cries turned into sobs, heavy. She sobbed. She cried, ragged muffled cries under her blanket. The pain seemed to intensify, weighing heavily on her heart, wounding tightly round it, an unseen physical force that made her cries even shorter, even more ragged.