morning lights;

Her head is pounding. She cannot think.
She steps into the house after a long day at school.
The woman sitting in the living room does not respond when she makes her greetings.
She wonders what's wrong but at the same time, she is angry.

She doesn't have her phone, but somehow the laptop's around.
She goes through her normal routine.

She could swear that it really felt as though her heart stopped beating for a few seconds while she read.
She doesn't have anything more to say. There isn't anything left to say, but she tries anyway. And she gets smacked in the face although they don't even know who it was speaking.

She says sorry. She says sorry for the way she feels, but she does not want to lie to herself. And neither does she want to let you lie to yourself too.

Her dad comes home and throws a casual hi at her. She responds with a reply that is weak in spirit. And when she walks pass him, she longs to run into his arms, something that she had not wanted to do in a long, long time. But she resists. Instead, he places a peck on her cheek and she feels her heart choking even more.

The tears come, and her head continues to pound.
And the coldest of hearts lie here.
Right here.