The town was a work of art, crafted to perfection like a glass sculpture too flawless to remove from its box.

Every detail was etched with crisp lines stained with hues bright enough to burn the eye, as if the streets were pages of a colouring book filled by the steady hand of a meticulous artist. Flowers spilled like coloured pencil shavings, rulers guided the streets dicing the town into neat portions and dresses were ironed until they were as smooth as paper. The grey lining the streets in the form of dusty concrete was unacknowledged, drowned out with colour, but could not be erased.

Calls of "Good morning Mr. Tate!" and "Nice weekend, Keith?" would float between open windows on every early morning breeze. At nine every morning, virtually every front door would swing open, and the picture-perfect families would begin their day. No one stepped out of line, and no one questioned the routine.

With every line placed with such fastidious perfection, everyone noticed when Henry and Brynn's youngest was erased. Their belief that their town held no fault being disproved, the townspeople turned on each other, unable to accept the flaws of reality. The underlying greys leaking through sidewalks that every brilliant flower and smile had fought to conceal became impossible to ignore.

My ceiling is plain and bare, and if you concentrate on my lights, you can see them flicker.

I rarely leave my bed, my room, my house.

I have nothing more to say, like words died on my tongue and rotted away behind my teeth.

"Be well and keep the cold at bay. I hope you feel your smiles today."

I missed you.

I didn't die today.

Goodnight.

i heard your words for the first time, and they reminded me that i can form ones of my own. as i'm crumbling my hope is ebbing away and every word i scrawl screams back at me, but even if it isn't my voice, it's my pen. and if that's the only thing i can control anymore, so be it; it's something.

thank you for pointing out the shred of me that's left. i'm clutching the pen like it's a lifeline, and maybe it is.

be well and keep the cold at bay.

i hope you feel your smiles today.

it's five in the morning here. parts of my insides are suddenly out, squeezing through openings i've carved in my wrist.

it's midnight there. i wonder what's occupying you at this hour. i wonder if you're busy the way i am right now.

i wonder if you remember your promise to me.

"i won't leave you like they did."

i wonder if you realise that's exactly what you've done.