she stared into space as the lines on the notebook page seemed to float from their very places and wrap their way around her throat.
they made hissing noises as they constricted her and she swore she heard whispered words of discrimination for how she had failed to fill them with words as she had promised.
she choked out apologies to the notebook lines and cried for mercy and relief from the constant battle of trying to breathe but not quite getting the air into her lungs.
"i was too busy"
"school comes first"
"writers block is debilitating"
and finally
...
"i have lost my touch for writing."
the lines released their hold on her throat and she fell to her knees with tears of forbidden ink trickling down her cheeks. she felt her heart burst and wept as each piece wedged itself in all of the places that hurt the most.
she realized then on the cold floor, with lines of ink around her throat and trails of ink decorating her cheeks, that the heartbreak of a boy could never compare to the heartbreak of those words leaving her lips.
because when you don't think about something it is easy to ignore, to pull back and away so it doesn't sting so much. but there is no string to pull words back in after they have been said and now she must sit there and stare at the words she has cried onto the pages and accept them.
the lines wavered in pain as they realized what this meant for them. they were just something else she had let down too. another expectation she failed to fulfill. another heartbreak she had brought upon herself.
perhaps those lines were the only ones who would love her, who wanted nothing more than to know what she was thinking. and now.
when she opened her notebook
they said nothing.
