In all honesty, she looked half dead.
She was of the young age of sixteen, yet grays struck through her voluminous crimson locks like lightning bolts, or rather clingy spider webs which failed to leave her head. Hair loss was evident as a great many strands clung to her back and shoulders. At times she would run her hand through that wondrous hair of hers, and it would leave an unsightly pile on the ground she would flick it off to.
That wasn't natural. Not for a girl so young. 799Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYh1Nz2Xxb6
She was thin as well, slender, with a form most considered to be quite nice, a form I was secretly jealous of. Yet her shoulders were scrawny, and at some points when I spent the days with her I wondered if she would fall over by a simple breeze she seemed so weak. She wasn't -- I knew she wasn't -- but her shoulders tricked the mind into thinking she was a fragile doll. If you so much as touched her the wrong way, she'd break.
Yet she'd never broken a bone.
Her eyes were brown, as was typical among the crowds, but I could remember a certain brightness in them, a glow of happiness and thoughtfulness. Nowadays, they were dark, as if something haunted her, has been haunting her for a long while.
I wouldn't be surprised if she was.
She walked with a lack of dignity. She walked with an invisible limp. When I looked at her, there was a lack of every good feeling in the world, with a frown upon her colorless and chapped lips. Her head would always be looking at the asphalt below her, as if fearing that if she looked into the eyes of a stranger, they would laugh at her. She didn't think I noticed this; whenever she came up to me she would smile, and a glow would return to her eyes. But I knew why she had the webs in her hair, why her eyes had gone so dark, why she seemed so unhealthily scrawny at times.
She suffered from anxiety.
And she still grieved for the boy who had died two years ago.
She cries sometimes now. My heart breaks to see the kind soul hurt so much, haunted by her past, but I don't know how to act, how to respond.
So I just sit there, wondering just how much dead weight she carries on those boney shoulders of hers.
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