A dress laid in tatters as she slumped against the bed frame, legs stretched out in front of her. The bed didn’t feel familiar anymore. The feeling of her just laying by herself on it was ghostly. The floor had become her friend. It’s hard and chilled body encompassing her. Her skin was fire against it. She slid down to be fully sprawled along the ground. Although her body heat was leaving her quickly, she made no effort to find warmth, letting the coldness continue to cover her until she was shivering in place.  She didn’t know what else to do except lay there as the past few months flashed through her mind. Usually tears would start trickling down her face, but this time, her eyes were dry. Part of her wanted to cry, to give her some emotion, some feeling, even if it was just of sadness or heartache, but no. She was just empty and tired.The beautiful dress now in pieces. It was a reminder of the pent up anger that was now nowhere to be seen. In a moment, she’d grabbed the innocent garment and pulled until there was nothing else left to rip apart. Her heart ached for what she may never get and for what she could never take. The beautiful thoughts in her mind soon became memories even though they weren’t real. At least not to anyone else. Many times she believed she could write a novel on all of it; herself, them, but words failed her. Over and over again.

Your life doesn’t have to be a tragedy to be written about, to be considered epic. Even the happiest of lives have sad moments, but those sad moments don’t have to be known as tragedies.