sleep

She looked at herself in the mirror after she had finished splashing warm water on her face. Her ears red from where she had removed the earring that now lay on the sink top. Two pairs of studs, one small square pair that always occupied the top piercing in her ear, and the always stable round ones the she wore in the lower piercing. Diamonds. Fake. Due partially to the fact that she had misplaced her real ones, but mostly because she was clumsy and lost small things easily. Dully they sit near a puddle of water as her eyes stare back in the mirror. She adjusted her necklace, the only one she ever wore. In fact, it was the one she was rarely without. Valueless? Yes. To her? Worth every moment of her sanity.

She had that half way between pajamas and bed, half way not, disheveled look. The slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, haphazardly pulled back hair, look, with slight mascara rings around her eyes from where she had washed her face. Her cheeks were glowing, grayish blue eyes, her mixed breed face could have been any woman, anywhere. But she was this particular woman unlike anyone, anyplace. Though insecure, her eyes reveled otherwise with an intensity that challenged anyone to believe anything but total confidence. Occasionally a flicker of pain and sadness, weakness, defeat flashed but it was hard to detect and even harder to remember.

She wiped a bit of toothpaste off her lip after brushing her teeth, pulled down and brushed her hair with a brush she had dug out of her drawer. To most, messy, but to her it was a small piece of a bigger part of clutter she had subconsciously created to feel ownership. Uncharacteristic, she realized she may be cutting off her nose to spite her face, but it was easy and besides, who cared? She didn’t. She didn’t even give it a second thought most days…and tonight, it was time for bed.

Her body was tired and mind aching she knew that while sleep would come relatively easy, it would not be deep or fulfilling. A blessing and a curse her hereditary sleep patterns, or lack thereof, normally didn’t slow her down, but these days she seemed to have a little less energy. Known for taking on too much, giving more than she had, never expecting much, at some point you just don't have anything left. They say when you take a picture of someone you steal a piece of their soul. Sometimes to her it felt she physically gave a piece of herself, a snapshot, to those around her, more than they even knew, and she felt like she was being stolen with less and less to give.

She quickly changed into her favorite warm sweats, her alma maters logo on the left thigh of the faded cotton, riding low, holding many memories the warm material was worn in and comfortable. She rubbed her eyes, turned on the fan, turned off the light crawled into bed and silently and thoughtfully she followed the usual routine of remembering those she had lost and those she loved. And before she knew it, it was morning.