two broken pieces have never made a whole [Mylee]

Worn rope between my fingers my throat knotted the same. An hour spent staring at my reflection through the table and I had only managed to learn two knots too many, a skill I’d never put to any type of actual use, nothing more than a last resort to the scratches in the wall. Frayed ends I would never be able to make meet I toss the piece to the counter—one metaphor too many, I had tossed my body to the floor—bury it now.

Paces across the floor and I’m stumbling over my feet, a blur into another day wasted and I’ve never hated these walls more. They are the pages of a children’s book steeped in lies, soaked in innocence that would never be found among the truces and handshakes. Trust was too fragile for these heavy walls.

But then again, to trust in another when I had never trusted myself was more of a task than I was prepared to complete, one item from life’s checklist and I still hadn’t been able to cross it off. Dying with a death wish constituted another item on the list, but its simplicity lied in the coffin that was sure to already be sitting on my front porch. One pace from penitence and I’m casting a sideways glance at the girl from eight, identification high on her shoulder like we were all supposed to care. Her smile is genuine, as far as I’m concerned, one inch further and she’d be smirking and one less she’d be scowling.

That smile follows me to a halt, my feet pausing underneath me—cease of pace and I’m staring straight into that genuine smile, unpaired to the look of stoicism etched across my face.

Moment of silence followed into the abrupt, “I’m not sure how you look so genuinely kind considering the surroundings.”