Before the storm, everything was okay.
Before the storm, she was happy.
Clare used to be happy. Her complexion glowed and her eyes were lit up. I couldn't say otherwise. Her laugh was like a song and her speech was never slurred or unkind. I never could last in an argue with her.
Clare used to try. She went to Church every Sunday and volunteered at the Youth Group whenever she could. I was in awe of her selflessness. She got straight A's at school, and never forgot to do her homework. She never gave up.
Clare used to be confident. If anyone insulted her, she'd shrug it off and go on with the day. I would have never done the same. She looked at herself and smiled because she liked the person she was. I admired that about her.
But nice things don't last forever.
Clare is depressed. Her complexion sulks and her eyes have turned a tinge of grey. I can't say otherwise, sadly. She never laughs and I rarely catch her speaking kind words. Or any words, really.
Clare has given up. She never goes to Church and the Youth Group wouldn't recognize her at this point. I'm in awe of her lack of care. She's failed all her classes, even English, and never does her homework. She's given up.
Clare is self-conscious. If anyone insults her, it hits her like a brick wall. I do the same, sometimes. She rarely looks at herself because she'll burst into tears and search for me to soothe her. She doesn't want to remember.
But even though she's given up, I will never give up on her. I hope that one day, a sweet kiss could brighten her life entirely, or whispering sweet nothings into her ear could trigger that laugh of hers.
Clouds can't overhang forever.