when she was a little boy

The young woman sits and sips spiked coffee after spiked coffee before drinking spiked tea while thinking. She reflects about time and life wasted fulfilling other people's dreams and work. Her legs hurt and her fingertips are sore as she grips the edge of her mug and licks the rim. She remembers being a kid. She remembers how great it was when she was a little boy; she reminisces about her favourite toy, ice cream treats after church on Sunday’s, and skinny dipping in fake lakes down in the outskirts of town. If she could paint her pain it would most definitely be brown, she thinks. She thinks: "What isn't fake? Dust, mud, dirt." Her legs hurt and her fingertips ache. She feels as if she could just lay her brain to rest on the wet pavement and break everything. There is a burning somewhere deep within her chest that she'd love to attribute to her heart yet she knows that it's been broken far too long now to feel anything anyhow.