Last week she made pancakes and this week she’ll make stew,
She cleans every couple of days and hates doing the dishes.
She’s just a girl doing what she does to get by.
But every night she writes a secret on the bathroom mirror in the mist from the steam she uses to cleanse.
It’d always been little things, like letting the dog eat off her plate, or stealing her brother’s easter eggs as a child, but lately it’s been much more haunting.
Every night since she realised she was lonely,
“I’m suicidal”
She wouldn’t rub it off, just let the steam fade away, in the hope that maybe one day soon, someone would notice the marks left, and enquire, giving her a chance to explain the way she felt.
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