First, I looked at my choppy brown hair that was long overdue for a cut.
Then I looked at my boring brown eyes. They were the same color as my hair. Dark brown. There was no light in them, no life.
I looked at my sharp face. It was small, angular. Defined. It could be beautiful, but my hair cradles my head to where you couldn't see it.
I'm skinny. Too skinny. Skinny enough to where you can count all of my ribs. I have no muscle. No curves.
I'm too small. I could be mistaken for a child, without my makeup and clothes on.
I wipe away the tears, and go to my bed without dressing.
No one could ever love me.
I'm ugly inside, and out.
YOU ARE READING
In Pieces
Short StoryI didn't want to destroy him. I was afraid I would break him into pieces. And add him to the list of people I've broken. There's too many on that list. Too many.
