And she was beautiful because things were impossible. She had to do something to deal with the downward spiral she was inevitably a part of. And when the snow melted and the flowers bloomed she saw darkness in each and every petal. She thought to herself, am I to be this way forever? To have a dimmed view of everything that is meant to be inspiring?
She made her way through the days with forced laughter and shallow breaths and everything in between was painful. She felt that everyone had neglected her and yet she was the one most guilty of the act. And the things she denied herself were just that to her, things unnecessary and uninteresting. And her jagged edges were enough to accidentally kill someone, if not herself.
Inside she was nothing but frightened though to others unwavering, stubborn, even a bitch. And she had to be beautiful, not because it was what was expected of her but because it wasn’t. Because she was expected to just be her and she wanted to be something extraordinary, even if it meant taking on a challenge that benefited no one. She made her choices with precision even though they were born of the chaos in her head.
And she was beautiful for a time, until she crossed the line from beauty to disgust, deteriorating to nothing but ash.
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