I don’t think she knows that I observe her. It’s a little weird, I guess, but we’re roommates. We’ve been roommates for a while now and I still don’t think she knows I see her.
I see the way her smile disappears so quickly, and I see the way she locks herself in her room. I see the way she stares out the window and I see the way she always has her guard up. Even if it’s just her and I in the kitchen, I see the way her laughter comes out in a rehearsed string.
Every so often she’ll forget to close her door and I’ll see her lying in bed, just lying there unable to sleep. Sometimes it’s even before eight o’clock. She’ll curl into herself with music echoing between the walls and I think she’s waiting. I think she’s waiting for time to pass. I think that’s why she likes sleeping so much.
It’s usually quiet in my room, but that’s because I like to listen. I don’t think she realizes I can hear beyond the music to her soft cries. I don’t think she knows I can hear how badly she’s hurting.
So I think she waits for happier days. Days she can laugh and smile and not worry about anything. I think she waits and I worry that she’s waiting for nothing. I worry she spends too much time waiting and not enough time being. But I also think on the days she is living, are the days she locks herself in her room. I think those days are harder than the others.
I have nothing to help her and I don’t know if anything really even could.
Sometimes her words scare me and send shivers down my spine. Sometimes she says things that claw at my eyes as if begging me to cry. Sometimes I think she just wants someone to know but I can’t say anything to help her.
But, God, do I want to help her.