not long until dawn

“How is it that we end up the same way?” she asked herself every time.

The cycle was always this way: tiring, saddening and brought her to tears. “Why is it that it’s always the same?”
                Her eyes were swollen and there was no hope that would bring her out to the world.
                “When will things change?” even though she was sure there was no better times to come. No clock that would go faster or go back to yesterday would comfort that heart with its bruises and stitches fading as well as her warmth.
                “Scream to the world it isn’t fair! Scream for the world to hear” her pillow would muffle her struggles to keep sane, as her mind would go round and round and yet go still. Her heavy breathing is fighting to steady. Silent nights and lonely times and she should be fine, they though before going to bed, proud of themselves for taking care of her. She shook her shoulders and sobbed and cried until dawn would calm her down enough so she could sleep with no fear of the dark. She feared the deadly silent night and the loneliness her heart had to bear every single night.
                Her dreams and nightmares would shine with the bright, warm Summer sun and there would be peace and a happy, childish version of herself running among lilies and showing her teeth in a wide, sweet, pure smile. Her dreams brought her memories as company and she would have tea and chat with them as they were better people than people themselves. The nights she spent with chills running up her body were nights when bad memories assaulted her and she kept them as creepy, freaky guests. She’d rather dream all the time, and in her sleep, should it be warm or cold with memories as friends, she felt it was safe to be free.
                “Cry but fight! Hurt but hold your ground! Get up, soldier, join the battle or you won’t stand a chance of seeing the sun shoot the horizon ever again.”
                The rising sun casts a shy and pale hint of light among the shadows around her room. She leaves her dreams and blinks twice until she feels the pillow wet with her teardrops against her puffy cheek. She cried, she hurt, she fought; she shook away the numbness so she could feel, should it be the pain it is realizing we are still here or should it be the glee of knowing we still stand a chance.

Author's Note

Please ignore any grammar mistakes.

Reviews

[Eloha]

I'd like to discuss with you Brazilian poets, can you give me some good ones to read?

I like your mini-stories. They seem solid with devices to captivate the reader.

Especially I find you are able to develop a character but their vivid emotive range.