It's raining outside, one of those days where the sky seems to be dripping pitch, charcoal black and hanging heavy over your head. Pale white skin, cold to the touch, so much so you'd think she were dead, she couldn't feel it. And lips that stood out, a bright dirty pink, but beautiful because it was worn and it was real. Smudged black and wisps of that dark red flying about, framing her face, a downward look, with something softer, softer edges.
Her frame, slightly fatter than she wanted, but small drowned in something khaki, jeans trailing in the fallen water and soaking up her shins.
The sky is already crying for her, skids down her makeup, cleaning off the person she hides behind, reducing her to reality and she's realised maybe she has to face up to what she's doing.
This fucking competition.

'Perhaps I shouldn't have let it slip; perhaps I should have just carried on both, regardless. I know it's wrong, I know it wouldn't last, but I didn't want to hurt them & I know you wouldn't believe that now.'
She stubs out her cigarette in the puddle. Inches away from her, the mirror ripples and the world moves slightly outwards for a second.
'Because this isn't normal, although when has that ever been my thing? Maybe I can't just be yours the way you can't just be mine; it is good for you to be in love with her, I'm just someone to hold until she's vacant. I'll do the same, just like he is and she is. I'm not in love though, I'm just waiting. Just using them and holding on. But I do love them, I do. Although they don't think I possibly can, not when I treat them like this. Why am I different? Because you know, and I know you do it to me. Pretend it means so fucking much, when you're not half as in love with me as I am with you. And that's the problem. I want the way you talk to me, the way he holds me, the way he'll kiss me, the way you'll all laugh at me, the way you'll sometimes look at me like I'm amazing. And then I think, I haven't seen that for so long; but I know that it doesn't belong to me; that I'm not the amazing one, I'm just 'until'.'

Now it's really getting dark. Can you believe that I do? We all know what it's like, being pushed to the back. Shall I sit here until one of them finds me? I'd never get found.
Just for someone to even look.

I can see my breath curling round my lips, I can see the hurt tearing rips in my skin and I can see, when I look at you what I'm doing, when all I want is for you to hold me and tell me that you won't ever, and you won't. And I'm sorry because in that moment I wish you'd never met me, because then at least I wouldn't have done any damage, and I love you, even if I am twenty third in your hierachy, I always did.
Because you two are so beautiful together, as are you, and you. I am the second, and the second is not always time tied, and doesn't seem to play by the rules. The second doesn't always have to, because soon, she'll pass away.
I can't inspire people to be that happy, just as I can't inspire people to care about me that much. I can inspire hurt though, and that is worse than anything. All I wanted was to make you, and me, happy.
The next, she pulls out and lights in the rain. She puts it out on her arm, then into the puddle.
And if she beats herself up, will she feel better? But no one else will know what she is doing for them. I only wanted to make someone happy and yet, even that means I have to burn part of myself away.


Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending:

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