Disclaimer: I think we already know who has true ownership of Twilight and it is definitely not me. That honour goes to the lovely Stephenie Meyer.
My Sorrow,
when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are
beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered
tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Robert Frost
Can you see her? Of course you can't. Don't worry though, almost nobody can anymore. Or maybe you can, but you only see a blurred outline, something indistinct, unnoticeable. Perhaps you're seeing her the way that she sees everything now.
Her life has completely unraveled. With one tug every thread has come undone, leaving her shivering, at the mercy of the elements.
An Elemental Fact of Life;
Theoretically, heartbreak cannot kill you.
However, reality doesn't bother with theories.
Allow me to describe her. This is the girl with the translucent skin that seems to blend in with every surface that passes her by. Of course she doesn't pass by the surfaces, haven't you noticed yet? They glide briskly past her. The whole world passes her by now. Opportunities whiz by like hummingbirds, franticly escaping from a non-existent threat. There is no reason for them to hurry away from her; she will never try to grasp at them.
This is a girl that would better suit the noun stick than female. She is not skinny in the way that you would describe a model and the two aren't similar in any way. Models do not have black crescent moons underneath their eyes. She more resembles a skeleton. Yes, that describes her exactly. After all, when the pallor of her skin is paired with her wasted figure it is quite reasonable to see a skeleton instead of a human. That is all she is now. She has only the structure of a body; there is nothing else there. I wonder how much longer this structure will support her. In the end a skeleton will crumble without something to hold it together; it needs joints and muscles to function.
She has no friends or companions. Well, that is, she has no human friends or companions. Pain is her sole companion now. Pain shakes her coldly awake in the morning, as though mocking her survival of the night. Pain lurks constantly by her shoulder, tapping her whenever she rarely forgets its presence. Pain wraps blankets tightly around her in bed at night, as though daring her to escape the nightmares.
She is the fairytale character that parents avoid speaking of in bedtime stories. She is the character who arrived late when they were giving out happy endings only to find them all snatched cruelly away. So she is left living in a tortured excuse of a fairytale. Yes, like most fairytales her tale has dark forests and monsters but unlike other tales these nightmares will never leave. There will be no knight in shining armor to whisk her away.
It is not a difficult task to see what her future is. Bleak, suffocating monotony and sadness awaits her at every door. Can someone truly be alive when they aren't living?
Right now she is in a seat, looking outside a window. Only she isn't looking. She hasn't truly looked at anything in a long time. But her eyesight is directed outside of the window. It is a new moon tonight and so there is no light to reflect onto her face. It is better this way, seeing her expressions for too long a time can have disastrous effects on your heart, twisting it in a most uncomfortable way. Still, it is comforting to know that your heart doesn't even remotely resemble the mangled mess that is contained inside her chest. I think right now with her gaze fixed outside the window, she is subconsciously searching for stars. She needs some small thing to light up the darkness that currently envelops her. But the clouds are too thick. They do not allow any light through.