She wakes up from a middle of a dream, she was falling from a bridge, whispering a few words -realizing that she's falling to her death- not thinking of anyone specific, a lover or even a friend. She wakes up from a middle of a day, from a middle of a life she was living, with the same feeling, with the same words, and with the constant empty thought about someone she could never have in her life.
Her hair was beautifully curving around her neck, her eyes were still wet of the last night's cry, she wears her glasses and says good morning to her nasty reflection in the already bored mirror.
A black eyeliner would be perfect for a blue cruel eyes she was painting, she keeps diluting the colors, moving the brush, sweeping the darkness away till the painting is finally done, and the face she was trying so hard to make it look evil is pure, and the eyes she wished to be blackened with sadness is now smiling, she rips the painting apart and cries, we only paint what we can't make true, she faces her dark brown eyes and holds a black eyeliner she never used, makes a sharp line, another heavier one, and so on till she no longer recognizes her face, her spirits lighten up a little, she finally got the picture in her mind complete.
Stupidly believing that this was the real her, she walked down the dark stairs of her mind till the black hole that's been constantly throwing self destructive chemicals, raising the volume of apocalyptica music higher and higher, she danced madly, freely, she danced to the death.
She wakes up in the middle of a dream, she was holding his hands, apologizing for the pain. He was smiling, like he has never been hurt before, looking at her like the scar deep in his heart wasn't carved by her name.