She was bleeding but her blood wasn’t red and her skin hadn’t broken.

She was screaming but there was no noise and her mouth wasn’t open.

She was crying but there were no tears and a smile was on her lips.

She was sad but she wasn’t allowed to be because she had a home and a family and a bank account.

She was laughing and it wasn’t genuine but we still laughed along with her.

She was talking about jumping from the sky but we told her not to joke about such things.

She was singing but her body wouldn’t dance.

She was begging for help but apparently it was a dramatic plea for attention and she shouldn’t act like a child.

She was told that she was loved and her heart beat for the first time in years.

She was told that she was a light that couldn’t be distinguished by the black clouds in this world.

She was a sad girl, but she fought it, even though death wasn’t an escape and happiness wasn’t an option.

She was strength, and beauty, and had the mind of a poet.

She was a beautifully stained soul and I carried her through the days when she thought she couldn’t take another step.

She was a part of my life even though she is just a reflection and no one else knows she exists.

She was me and I learned to love her even though she was the part that wanted to give up.