She's crying.
Her tears aren't delicate enough for her face to be called pretty anymore, but she knows there's someone out there who would still think she was. Her face is blotchy but she knows there's someone out there who would love to kiss it still. Her eyes are red but she knows there's someone out there who would still say they were beautiful. Her heart is breaking but she knows there's someone out there who would try their damndest to make sure the pieces are back in place. Her mind is addled and she knows there's someone out there who would say:
"I think you're losing your touch." And she knows that someone would just pull her close until she stops.
But he's not here. She's crying again.
Her body is drowning in her tears. They taste salty, she thinks, like the sea. But it isn't as beautiful. Nothing's beautiful when the sea isn't here. Not anything. Not at all.
(She desperately wants to say that nothing's beautiful when he's not here, but she's cracking and he's gone.
She wonders if he'll come back this time.)
She's drowning.
And this time her Seaweed Brain isn't here to save her.
