Two Eyes Cenote we can't fall any further if we can't feel ordinairy love

In a touch she is made to direct her consciousness to the violence enacted upon her body. To focus is to fight, but the voice is inherently familiar and coaxes the barest bit of pragmatism. But she could not attach any word to this unthinkable pain. She’d awakened from the cold and it fell all around her life in a shawl.

“I feel like I’ve had a miscarriage.” Starkly, numbly, it was named, as if doing so could eradicate feeling. She breathes, frowning, for her mouth had acted on its own accord.

They’d been for her. She’d loved them too much. But she could not love without fury.

Dimly, her gaze lifts to look into the irises of the woman; garden green encased in glass. Faintly unaware of others in the room, she closes her eyes once more.