Jagged Shards of Hurt

She stood in front of the mirror, staring.
Her hair. Her face. Her eyes. Her cheeks. Her mouth.
"If It Kills Me" played in the background, in repeat mode.

And then it finally hit her. The thing she was afraid of.
The thing she held her own against for weeks.
The thing she held her head high against in stubborn defiance for weeks.

Her hair. Her face. Her eyes glistening. Her cheeks. Her mouth trembling.
The first drops were warm against her cool skin.
But what of it, everything felt warm after awhile.

Drops to trickles to flows. She let herself go. She felt weak. She felt tired.
Weeks of carefully built up defenses crumbling. Like. Dominoes toppling.
Weeks of pent-up anguish gushing forth. Engulfing.

Her body. Suddenly thin, suddenly frail. Racked with sobs.
Never has so much hurt coursed through her before. Strength seeped from her.
Her mouth opened. No words came out. Her mouth closed again.

She stood there. Rooted. Her hands gripped the wooden chair in front of her.
She felt alive but in so much pain. Pain makes one feel alive?
Her knuckles were taut. Tense. Maps of veins covered her hands.

Soft cries of anguish. But no one heard her. She was alone.
She was still standing. For two-thirds of an hour.
She was still crying. She rocked back and forth slightly. On the balls of her feet.

She felt as if her head were going to burst. Held her head in her hands.
Years of memories ran through her mind. Churning.
So much pressure. So much hurt. So much. So much.

Words and scenarios played in her mind. Moments, events, dreams, promises, laughter.
All but memories now. Intangible fragments. Jagged shards of hurt.
She felt raw. She felt exposed. She felt bare.

The song still played.
The rivers still ran.
The jewels still adorned her cheeks.