Numbness.

Her eyes fluttered open at the first rays of dawn. Piercing her brown eyes and making them wince a little. She woke up, but mechanically, rather than fluidly. It seemed as if every inch of emotion had been sapped out of her very existence. As she bathed, and let the cold water flow down her body, she remembered it all. The way he looked at her, as if she was heaven, the way his words seemed like a gush of warmth streaming through her veins, the way his touch sent electrifying goose bumps all over her skin. But no, she did not weep. She just stood there, letting the water flow across her body, cleansing her skin of every memory they held.
Her skin was cleansed, but each memory left behind a mark, on her body, on her mind, on her soul. But the irony is that so often these marks are nothing but scars. The sweetness of each scar is no less that its bitterness. The words which once brought about tears of joys in her sparkling eyes, cut across her like fresh blades. But no, she doesn’t bleed. Not from her eyes, not from her skin. But from her heart, which has bled so much that it feels lifeless, to withered to give anymore, to fearful to accept anymore.

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