Crumbling

    She sat on the bathroom floor of the 7-11. Her mascara smudged, her hair still dripping from the rain, and her dirt-covered dress now in shreds.

    She prayed that the sound of her tears would not reach the other side of the stall door. She could already imagine the crowd gathering outside, all convened just to get a glimpse of her dishevelled state. She begged herself to regain composure.

    After all, how could she cry over something that was never hers to begin with?