She spent most of her days thinking. She spent most of her days alone. Things had gradually evolved for her, and this was now the norm. A tinge of what seemed like greyness had encased her life, and though she was unable to put a finger on what the source of this intangible greyness was, it bugged her. Gloom, they call it, she thought. It was gloom. Was it?

Peering out of the tainted lens that distorted her image of the world, she sensed the remnants of colour. It was colour. Colour and light. She reached out, as though in a bid to grasp the colour. Suddenly, everything disintegrated. The colours merged discordantly, translating to a disgusting shade of chaos. Gloom, it had returned.

She sat alone. No, she was not alone. She was at a dinner, dinner with a group of friends. Merry making acquaintances. She tried to will herself to pay attention to the inane chatter the group, with futile half-hearted attempts to engage in the meaningless exchanges. She could not help drifting out to her own little mental corner of emptiness as her meal mates prattled on. She was not there, she did not feel like she was there at the dinner table. An element of invisibility had seemed to overtaken her spirit; she felt a sense of lightness, juxtaposed with the burden of accumulated gloom she carried stoically on her shoulders.

She excused herself from the table, making a swift escape to the restrooms. She stood facing the long panel of wide mirrors which lined the sinks, secretly thanking the heavens for allowing her the space of an empty restroom. She needed that space. More the mental space, than the physical. She simply needed that space, away from people, to recover from the unhappiness she subjected herself to.

She scrutinised her image in the mirror – every line, every curve. Her reflection looked so familiar, and unfamiliar. She faked a smile. It looked convincingly gleeful, she concluded. Who was she kidding?

She silently wished someone would appear, and take her into their embrace. To hug her closely against their self, and to tell her she was loved. She yearned for love, to be loved. She did not want a partner, no, that will be misreading her sentiments entirely. She merely wished for a kind soul to ease her sorrow just a little by offering that little bit of concern.

She thought about how she had established herself as one who repulsed hugs. And the times she had rejected cuddles from those around her, for no particular reason. It just did not come to her naturally. It was times like these where she wished someone would go up and be nice to her spontaneously, and that she would openly accept it without qualms at all. She knew it was times like these which punished her so mercilessly for all the times she had forgone. She knew, and it hurt. Why can't someone love me, she thought.

She is reminded of the few people she loved to meet. About how she loved the way they displayed their care and love for her so uninhibitedly, how they hugged her upon sight. She wished that few people was there with her at that very moment. She thought about how she wished day and night she could constantly meet those people, for the hugs, for the care, for the love.

A tear escaped from her painstakingly outlined waterline, down her well-defined cheekbones, meandering round the fine contours of her face. She chided herself for allowing her emotions to threaten the flawlessness of her painted face, but she could not control the feelings that were brewing within her.

Filled with self-detestation, she felt completely hapless as she collapsed onto the sleek marble toilet flooring in a heap, as the tears warped her vision. Like a spurned devotee, she wept quietly, enveloped in her own personal torment. She wanted to be hugged, to be loved. So many years of shutting affection out of her concrete life had finally brought along the days where everything had started crumbling. It was not the first time a tsunami of emotions had struck her, in fact, the occurrences had exponentially increased lately. She knew that. She was very aware of her current state. She was a mess.

She buried her face in her palms and hugged her knees close to her chest. Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? She tried to shut it out, but the question screamed in her head repeatedly like a siren, driving her to the edge of insanity. The mental tape loop of infuriating resentments tormented her to no end. She tried to calm herself down. Breathe.

Her breathing stabilised, her eyes fluttered as she regained clear sight. She stared in stillness, for a moment, and anoesis descended. She mended her make up haphazardly, straightened her skirt and made for the door. The world was waiting, she had to return.

Too many years, fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die?

She spent most of her days thinking. She spent most of her days alone. Things had gradually evolved for her, and this was now the norm. A tinge of what seemed like greyness had encased her life, and though she was unable to put a finger on what the source of this intangible greyness was, it bugged her. Gloom, they call it, she thought. It was gloom. Was it?

Peering out of the tainted lens that distorted her image of the world, she sensed the remnants of colour. It was colour. Colour and light. She reached out, as though in a bid to grasp the colour. Suddenly, everything disintegrated. The colours merged discordantly, translating to a disgusting shade of chaos. Gloom, it had returned.

She sat alone. No, she was not alone. She was at a dinner, dinner with a group of friends. Merry making acquaintances. She tried to will herself to pay attention to the inane chatter the group, with futile half-hearted attempts to engage in the meaningless exchanges. She could not help drifting out to her own little mental corner of emptiness as her meal mates prattled on. She was not there, she did not feel like she was there at the dinner table. An element of invisibility had seemed to overtaken her spirit; she felt a sense of lightness, juxtaposed with the burden of accumulated gloom she carried stoically on her shoulders.

She excused herself from the table, making a swift escape to the restrooms. She stood facing the long panel of wide mirrors which lined the sinks, secretly thanking the heavens for allowing her the space of an empty restroom. She needed that space. More the mental space, than the physical. She simply needed that space, away from people, to recover from the unhappiness she subjected herself to.

She scrutinised her image in the mirror – every line, every curve. Her reflection looked so familiar, and unfamiliar. She faked a smile. It looked convincingly gleeful, she concluded. Who was she kidding?

She silently wished someone would appear, and take her into their embrace. To hug her closely against their self, and to tell her she was loved. She yearned for love, to be loved. She did not want a partner, no, that will be misreading her sentiments entirely. She merely wished for a kind soul to ease her sorrow just a little by offering that little bit of concern.

She thought about how she had established herself as one who repulsed hugs. And the times she had rejected cuddles from those around her, for no particular reason. It just did not come to her naturally. It was times like these where she wished someone would go up and be nice to her spontaneously, and that she would openly accept it without qualms at all. She knew it was times like these which punished her so mercilessly for all the times she had forgone. She knew, and it hurt. Why can't someone love me, she thought.

She is reminded of the few people she loved to meet. About how she loved the way they displayed their care and love for her so uninhibitedly, how they hugged her upon sight. She wished that few people was there with her at that very moment. She thought about how she wished day and night she could constantly meet those people, for the hugs, for the care, for the love.

A tear escaped from her painstakingly outlined waterline, down her well-defined cheekbones, meandering round the fine contours of her face. She chided herself for allowing her emotions to threaten the flawlessness of her painted face, but she could not control the feelings that were brewing within her.

Filled with self-detestation, she felt completely hapless as she collapsed onto the sleek marble toilet flooring in a heap, as the tears warped her vision. Like a spurned devotee, she wept quietly, enveloped in her own personal torment. She wanted to be hugged, to be loved. So many years of shutting affection out of her concrete life had finally brought along the days where everything had started crumbling. It was not the first time a tsunami of emotions had struck her, in fact, the occurrences had exponentially increased lately. She knew that. She was very aware of her current state. She was a mess.

She buried her face in her palms and hugged her knees close to her chest. Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? Why won't anyone love me? She tried to shut it out, but the question screamed in her head repeatedly like a siren, driving her to the edge of insanity. The mental tape loop of infuriating resentments tormented her to no end. She tried to calm herself down. Breathe.

Her breathing stabilised, her eyes fluttered as she regained clear sight. She stared in stillness, for a moment, and anoesis descended. She mended her make up haphazardly, straightened her skirt and made for the door. The world was waiting, she had to return.

Too many years, fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die?