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She's here, but she's not here.

For the longest time she had convinced herself that she was fine being alone. That she was surviving, getting through the days with broken memories, remembering some and forgetting many.

She was a mixture of everything and nothing, her identity blurry and unknown even to herself. During the day she told herself she was fine, that everything wss okay, but come dark the silence was too loud, the voices in her head ever ever so talkative.

She couldn't figure it out, life that is, no matter how hard she tried, she just could noylt figure it out. And that was painful to her, but she kept trying, giving up was never an option. For that meant the end.

Every night she sat in the floor and tried to remember the happy days of her childhood, when and where she had once felt a sense of freedom, that only seems like an strange alien feeling now.

In the midst of drowning in the old memories, she feels a hint of that feeling a bit, but the she feels bad and pained for trying to live in the past, she feels like a failure for wanting to run away from the present moment.

So she brings her self back and opts for the pain and confusion of the present moment instead, because for her to move forward she has to experience this moment to its fullest and truest.

So she sits and cries and cries and contemplate and cry, it's unbearable, but she sits anyway, because she knows there is always a rainbow after every storm, and to see that rainbow you have to listen and experience the turmoil of the storm.