*Depressing content ahead. You've been warned about my dark thoughts.*
The assumption that I would be alone was certainly correct. The occasional 'I'm fine' spoken to concerned loved ones. Or the several long minutes spent in the comfort of a bedroom, dabbing gently at green eyes as to not smudge the black that framed them.
The sniffle as my nose ran, the straining tension to stop myself from sobbing. Standing in front of a full-length mirror in the corner, staring at a hollowed reflection until the tears had willed themselves away. A sharp swallow, an intake of breath, bloodshot eyes.
"I'm fine."
The faux smile to mask the death taking place on the inside. A haunted soul tainted in a mixture of longing and loss. Reduced to a quiet observer at the dining table, idle chatter going muffled and excusing myself early.
Neither hungry or nauseated, but simply unable to consume food. Toying with it on a plate, rejecting of it. I knew how that food felt laying there - the rejection.
"Ashaia?"
"I'm fine."
I was. I was sure. If I convinced myself here enough. If my determination didn't let out, I would be fine. I would always be fine. This was the struggle. This was the test. But my durability would grow stronger from this. After it passed.
But it had a way of taking it's sweet time. A time when very little had any meaning. Where everything was either hopeless or pointless. I felt both in equal measure, haunted by past laughter and warm hands.
Everything grew silent. Even with the happiness of others bubbling around me. Just a certain quiet that I, myself, was plagued with.
Everything felt dead. Nothing mattered. Just a series of decease over and over again.
Everything was dead in the water.
Metaphorically, I felt dead in the water.
