The wrinkled fingers were worn thin. Not due to time, but the deepest emotion any heart would ever know of.
I always thought there was a reason why a child is small enough to fit into a mother's lap perfectly. Why they need to be able to sit and listen to the voice that says everything will be alright.
And she pulled that frail piece of cloth closer as it tugged at her pale skin, because she knew even the toughest material can fall apart at the seams. She bit down on her lower lip, swearing she would not cry, but it never worked. They told her the ones who dont cry are the brave ones, but her tears were evidence enough of the fact that tears have never been a defining factor, and never will be. She shivered in the cold, and wondered why people could hate the hot and detest the cold all at once.
Because when memories leave you feeling so alone, all that's left are the purple bruises that accompany those solitary moments.
And that's when she needed to hear that voice, telling her everything would be alright.
And so she smiled. But the smile never reached her eyes.