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She does not know what she wants, perhaps she does, but how can one dream so far without the constant feeling of being incomplete? Of feelings lost, alone, helpless. She heard the violins chaotically dancing in her ears, humming the melody while they kept spinning around the ballroom until they stopped, and started all over again. Craving a cigarette, but she had already smoked a lot that week. Live fast and die pretty, but that did not seem enough just yet. It was true she could not bear or stand the fear of ever getting old and ugly, but she was not ready to die yet. An academic by heart, a polyglot, an intellectual, still the cold-gutted teenage beauty managed to almost fail school every single time, saved by the bell and some pitiful professors. The tears ran down her cheeks, almost cold, she was trapped. Trapped between a dream and reality, between what was real and what was not, what could happen and what couldn't. The time passed and passed and passed and everything was still the same, everything but her. Constant nausea seemed to get worse every single day without fail. Feeling like she didn't have the right to feel like this, for she had everything in her hands, a good condition, a supportive mother, a good home. But how can a human being ever stop wanting more and more if they were made for destroying themselves and their similars with greed and violence and pain? However she wasn't greedy, she just wanted her dream to become true, to live a life worth living. Therefore, wasn't every life worth living? We were given it for a reason, but how can one be forced to live a life not worth living.

She is lost, she is weak, she is broken, yet she is trying to catch all the pieces together again and maybe glue them in a way where it's not so obvious they were once all scattered all over the floor. She is trying, she always smiled like she is about to cry, she is me.