He visits her the next day, but he isn't carrying a tray, and she can't bring herself to care, because she's too entranced with watching his dark, dark shadows dance round his face. Feathery locks that make her want to touch them, but she can't because she's afraid that if she does, her groping fingers will pass straight through them.
She can't understand him, but that doesn't matter.
All that matters is that he sits next to her silently, blending with the gray and black and bleakness as the two of them stare out the mirror that hangs on the wall, right next to her bed.
YOU ARE READING
Her Definition Of "Life"
Short Story"A sane person to an insane society must appear insane." -Kurt Vonnegut "she wasn't living" She truly believed that she had found the meaning of life. Or rather, the meaning of her life. "there never was anything in her" For her, she wanted to spen...
