The Girl And The White Room

The girl sits in her white room, walls caked red beneath the imaginary layers of white.

Her tears are oceans in a vast world where all she's ever known exists. In that world she feels the sun's glow, it's warmth on her skin. In that world she feels the wind tickle her cheek and the breeze flow through her hair. In her world green grass grows at the base of full and beautiful trees, and fields have flowers.

But in this world, all she knows is her white room. Outside the lonely window she sees a tree, twisted and misshapen, sad and decaying on a hill of dead leaves.

In this world, the rain she sees is lifeless, not like her tears. The rain that falls is not oceans. The rain that falls is cold and it hurts her. The wind she feels is bitter and it stings her. The sunlight she sees hurts her eyes and makes her weary.

All she knows is her white room. Her white room caked red beneath the imaginary layers of white.