Dying.

She's dying every day, a little.
She keeps trying, with despair and determination, every day.
She keeps hoping that once she does, we will all understand how much she suffered.
She dreams of the moment when she will tell us "I told you so!" ... and cannot see how absurd this is.
She wants us all to be sad for her. To feel pity for her. All she wants is for others to say "poor her, how much she suffered".

She's dying. And there's nothing I can do.
She's dying. And I don't even know if I want her to live.

She doesn't want to live. She doesn't want to be happy. She doesn't want love, warmth, joy ... She dreams of perennial sadness and bitterness ...
She wishes for pain - for the physical pain that can numb her senses and emotions from the inside. A pain that she can endure, to make her forget of the pain of loneliness and emptiness.

She has nothing to lose. She lost herself, a long long time ago, and now ... now she's just waiting. And wanting to die.
She doesn't care. Empty, sore, consumed by a life she hated for years and years, by regrets and "what ifs" ...

She's dying. And there's nothing anyone can do. We all watch, pray, beg, curse, shout, fight, cry, laugh. But nothing changes - she is dying. Killing smiles and dreams and love around her. Painting it all black. Hurting us to tears.

She's simply dying. Every day, more.
And I've already bought my black, mourning clothes. Was it rush? hope? sales?