There's nothing here for her anymore. Not really. She was always the actress, wise words at the ready, smile, sweet and serene always pasted on her lips. None of it was hers. Not really. Only borrowed, like the coat she's wearing. It's too big now, hanging loosely on her form. How long has it been?
It's hard now, without a script. She's awakened from the role she's been playing and it's an uneasy process. It reminds her of waking up on the cold pavement. There was a bit of snow in the air today. It comes earlier every year.
She is beautiful in a classic sort of way even without the makeup. A bit worse for wear now of course, but who isn't? It's the way of things.
She's the kind of girl who makes you wish the world hadn't moved on quite yet. The kind of girl with all the answers hiding somewhere behind her gaze. If only she could remember them.
She's losing words these days. She's aware of it and talks to herself to try to slow the process. But it only does so much good. And it's horrifying, the sound of her voice on the thin air. Sometimes she's not even sure it's hers. And what do you have if you can't even recognize your own voice? If the words sound like the guttural utterances of some terrible beast?
She dreams of the others sometimes. She knows they're out there. If they didn't exist, then why should she dream of them?
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