Forever trapped. Not in a bubble nor a cocoon. Trapped in a privacy glass box. I can see out but everyone else just sees box. Tedious outside which nobody bothers to question. That no body bothers to expose.
Everything around me seems so distant. Every indescribable sensation, snatched from my reach.
I drowned myself in tears. Hoping, praying to one day freed from the enclosed space. My claustrophobia makes me feel even smaller. Even more trapped. I feel nauseated, light headed, breathless. More than usual.
I span slowly. Taking in all of the faces of the passers by. I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar figure. I turned my feeble body towards it and stared. The unfamiliar figure now looking slightly recognizable. The figure was I. A person I couldn't help but look at it in such suspicion. The latest me. A damaged, broken, unfixable adolescent that I've become.
I stared at the person before me. The unchanged thoughts roaming around my head. "Is that I? What have I done?" I gently touched my wrist. I elegantly shifted my fingers over my rigid skin. The cuts that are too deep that even bracelets cant cover them. My blemished wrists.
I move my hands onto my stomach. Onto my ribs and hipbones. My body holds them out. I slowly encounter my skeletal legs. Thinner like sticks.
My hair so dry. My face so red, bloated from the waterfall I cried. Cry me a river.
I turn my head in shame. Forcing myself not to look at the person I've become. Unable to take the changes in.
I look up. Once again endlessly gazing at the passers. I painfully smile at people that look in, however knowing they don't understand there is someone inside. Someone who needs to be set free.
A couple walk sluggishly towards my box. It's him. His arrival brought the waterworks to my eyes again. He looked so beautiful. The sun catching the array of colours in his hair and the blue iris of his eye. Before now I had never seen the beam on his face. He was so content.
His sweetheart standing close. Tightening his hand as they moved closer to the box that I invest in. They stood so close. He put his hand out to the box, to touch it. I could feel his hand on my scrawny shoulder. That was when I realised that I was no longer in a box. That the box was a barricade from the real world and I was the one putting it up.
"Ella? Is that you?" he spoke with a voice so smooth that even silk couldn't compare.
"What? Oh, Robby. It's you." I replied, with slight anger and confusion in my tone.
"Why are you crying?" He asked, running his fingers through his palette of blonde hair as it fell in front of eyes.
"Robby, come. We're going to be late!" His sweetheart said tugging at his musclier arm.
"Okay darling. Bye. We'll speak again soon." Said Robby, turning, and leaving following onward from his supervisory sweetheart.
I stood and watched them leave. My heart breaking every step he took. He looked back and smiled.
How cold his soul must be. The pain he must feel for me.
I stood cold, alone, and once again trapped.