Melissa

Of Note; This belongs to someone special. It was written and executed for her. It seems only fair, then, that I write a dedication. So here it is. This is for you, the girl who knows but doesn’t.

She sighed in the mirror. She did not decide against saying no, but she found no mind to commit. A simple answer would have given the ailment a proper cure. But, at times, the sickness can not find grounds to be, and then she must decide. She is left to see what it is that remains “the path.” And so she set out to.

 She gathered her notebooks and sketches and bottles of aspirin that were not aspirin at all. She cornered her sheets to the edges of her bed, and made sure that the comforter looked smooth and her pillows unwrinkled. She emptied the waste paper basket that sat next to her desk and she refilled the paper dispenser on her printer. She organized her schoolbooks in order of size and alphabet, and made sure that all of her clothes were clean and hanging neatly in the closet. She vacuumed the floor and picked the loose hairs out of her hairbrush. Then, she undressed and hung those clothes up as well. She garbed her sky blue bathrobe and entered the bathroom. Then she shut the door gently, and turned on the hot water in the bathtub. Forgetfully, she plugged the drain after she had already begun to run the water.

 She had had a very long day. The day had been too long in fact. The day had been trying on her patience and her mentality. The day had dragged on and on. There were times, during the day, when she wondered if it would ever actually end. She had wondered, during the day, if the end was simply a pitiless joke that would never find its punch. She figured that she must be the end, that she was the one who could spot the reclusive conclusion. She decided upon the end of the day just as the night began to fall. She decided upon the end before realizing the beginning. Her decision, all the same.

 A mixture of soap and steam filled her nostrils. A soothing and seeping digression lifted her sullen spirit and she slid silkily into the bubbling and moving water. She lay smiling, happy that she was there. Tears in her eyes. Words on her lips. Expression on her soul. A deep and inexplicable sadness on her appeal.

 To the side of the white and marble tub sat a bar of green and oily soap and a package of razors that she used to shave her legs. She reached for the soap. Soon she was washing herself; she washed gently and carefully. She avoided a quick wash. She measured each stroke of the soap against her day; she washed away the sting of the harsh and pelting truths of that world. She washed until she was completely satisfied. Then she lathered herself again. And then again she rinsed. Finally, she reached for the package of the very sharp razor blades.

 A mist of a daze found her. Her wrists were shiny with soap and water and steam and sweat. Her eyes were wet and clouded with the tears of yes and no. Her mouth was jilted with maybe. Her high was lost in lows. And she held the razor close, very close. Too close.

 So close that it hurt her to hold it there. And then she saw what she had not wanted to. She was very much alive. Very much so. And she could not be the person to say no. She had to say yes. But yes to a much harder question. Yes to that which she had committed a no. And then the razor splashed against the steamy and bubbly water. And she arose. Tears and sweat and water and soap and everything else. But she arose.

She sighed in the mirror. She did not decide against saying no, but she found no mind to commit. She found no mind to commit. And she was as amazing as she was sad. And she was sad. And she was amazing. And she was sad. Sad as she could be happy. She could be happy. She could be. That’s important.

A guy