She couldn’t breathe or move. The air seemed to suck itself in and out but lost its voice. Her eyes wide open, she continued to stare at the walls of her room. The walls that once brightened up her day now only made her claustrophobic. The walls that once became her canvas when needed remolded themselves into lifelong fears trying to reach out for her. Her eyes blinked accepting all the cruel realities that she had once unknowingly painted yellow. The tinge of purple amidst the yellow abstract of realities gave in and faded away with each tear that fell across her face onto the satin sheet.
Glued to the bed, with her hair spread around the pillow she let out a sigh of relief. Unsure of the extent of her dawdling indecisiveness she was unable to tell between the sigh of relief of pain and the uncertainty itself. Pain because the satin felt like thorns piercing deep into her flesh and the indecisiveness because her hair strands entangled themselves into knots with the false predictions. Meanwhile, being uncertain because she knew that nothing except from her existence was real, she secretly gave in to her predictions because only she understood and acknowledged the beauty of owning them.