Momentary Fictitious Notes

Wretched

She wakes up in the middle of the night, on the right side of her bed.

For a few minutes, she stared blankly ahead, thinking.

As her eyes scan the corners of her room, she felt something wet running down her  cheeks.

The night stood still, silent, and all she can hear are her own teardrops making a sound as they hit her pillow.

She turned to her left as her unsolicited tears continue to run down her face.

She realized she was worthless without it. Without love.

As if she was living, but there was no substance. She realized she wasn’t needed. She wasn’t important.

She was alone.