life is a series of disappointments.

And she sits, shivering, waiting, seconds turn to hours, and still she waits.
Back against a rock, spine slowly turning purple with bruises. Purple lips, purple nails. It’s too cold. She lets a single tear fall, leaving a black path down her face, incredible contrast to her ivory skin. She doesn’t know what she is waiting for. Still, she waits. A breeze blows her dull hair around her and she gasps as the cold hits her. She needs to be saved. She’s been disillusioned too many times. She’s been left alone too many times. This shouldn’t hurt, but still she waits. The waves roll in and crash, and the drops land on her bare legs. Winter breath. Tragedy. All she sees is empty space. And still, she waits. The sky darkens slowly. Grey-black clouds drift over as the sun sets. Noise erupts from them. Everything is dull. Everything is hopelessly insignificant. And still, she waits.

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