she turns to the clock by her bedside - 7.30am. the sun rays are beginning to creep through the crevices of her bedroom curtains. she shields her eyes from the blinding sunlight, turns towards her mobile phone, peeks at it with half-opened eyes - no messages, no missed calls and lastly, she heaves a long sigh.
her head feels like someone is inside it, knocking on the walls of her head. she knows there's nothing much she could do about it except to face the pain bravely. come a new morning, she wishes the pain would suddenly disappear. but it never does. it keeps knocking and knocking inside, hollowness follows. even if it does not stop, could there be someone she could at least share this burden with?
she is too afraid to tell, too afraid that others might suspect and too afraid that he will know the truth. she only wants this to pass by and be gone. would it be better if she just end her life? then all pain and sorrows would be gone?
she is unsure.
if she tells him the truth, how is he going to face it? can he stand the truth? what would his reaction be? how would he feel? how is he going to live his life after her life? or perhaps rather, he simply doesn't care if she dies?
so many questions.
but no answers.
it's better this way, she thinks, that he must not know the truth. it doesn't really matter anyway that he does not know the truth, because what is most important now is that he is still talking to her even though there are times when he is mean and cold and conversations turn into arguments. but she doesn't care - as long as they are still talking to one another. she only wants to spend as much as possible of her only time left in this world with him - that is what matters the most to her now.
but does he know this?
so every morning at 7.30am, when she wakes up, tears form in her eyes.