"She Needs Butterflies"
She collects ticket stubs at the theatre in which she works. She pins them up on her personal bulletin board at home. She smiles, and tentatively runs her fingers across the strips of recycled paper, marveling at the memories each one possibly entails. She taps the newest one twice in a petty act of self-reassurance. She tells herself that, although she hasn't seen it, it is probably a good movie.
She slips into the warm water. She glides her fingers across the bubbles, watching as the foam makes light crinkly noises against the water's surface. She smiles. She tells herself she won't be alone forever. She tells herself that, one day, she'll have someone to share this bath tub with. She slides into the foam and closes her eyes. She's lost in thoughts. She almost forgets to hold her breath.
She stretches in her cold bed and pulls the covers over her. She feels cold, but not because it's winter. She feels cold because inside she's empty. She thinks to herself, loneliness is a disease, so she hugs her pillow. She waits for a cure. She pretends it was a boy she liked back in high school. She pretends that he's hugging back. She pretends he's telling her how much he loves her. She pretends she's pretty. She smiles, then frowns. She furrows her eyebrows and then digs her face into the soft comforter. She wraps herself in a cocoon, and sleeps.
Maybe tomorrow.
