(397. Broken wings; artificial flowers.)
"I hate that you're so in love, " says Miranda, over breakfast.
"I hate that and I hate you both and I just...hate..." she trails off into a strangled sob, abandons her chai and breakfast, dashes upstairs.
The sound of the running water in the shower will swallow up the fainter sound of crying.
The shower is warm. She contemplates the spiderwebbing of old scars across the inside of her arms. The razor is innocently alluring, next to the shave gel; all evidence of both blood and tears wash down the drain and January winter clothes camouflage a history of sins.
"I hate that and I hate you both and I just...hate..." she trails off into a strangled sob, abandons her chai and breakfast, dashes upstairs.
The sound of the running water in the shower will swallow up the fainter sound of crying.
The shower is warm. She contemplates the spiderwebbing of old scars across the inside of her arms. The razor is innocently alluring, next to the shave gel; all evidence of both blood and tears wash down the drain and January winter clothes camouflage a history of sins.