She collapsed on her bed, a cloud of gray encompassing her frail figure. There were too many problems, too many demands, too many things she had to do just to survive. Tears stained her white duvet a light gray - mimicking what she felt inside of her soul.
A slight tapping sounded from her window.
She struggled to lift her head and glanced out the window. Her gaunt face was streaked with tears and her eyes were swollen - she was in no position to see anyone. That being said, however, she still hoisted herself off of her bed and, with great difficulty, made her way over to the window.
A boy stood on the other end - one she'd never seen before. He motioned for her to open the window, and she did.
She did because he had the same look in his eyes that she'd seen reflected in her own eyes every morning when she looked in the mirror.
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice thick with tears.
"I'm someone who understands," he said, his clear voice calming her down. "I just wanted to tell you to keep fighting, okay?" He reached out a pale hand and cupped her face. The pad of his thumb brushed over her cheek.
"I don't think I can anymore," she said, softly.
"Everything will mend itself. I promise," he whispered. He grabbed her hand and pressed something into it, smiled at her, and bolted away from the window.
The girl glanced at her hand.
He had given her a flower - a chrysanthemum.
Long life.
