He walks into the bathroom to find her lying on the tiled floor. When he first sees her wrists he thinks the blood drips a lot like teardrops. Or maybe more like rain.
And she was always looking up at the sky. Reaching out her fingers, dreaming of what it would taste like to fly. To kiss heaven. To say goodbye to cold nights spent howling like a wolf in the bathtub, crying out for a Messiah who was asleep in the next room to come save her.
Maybe she loved it all so much she allowed herself to become a rainstorm. Because maybe then the screams in her ears would sound more like wind and maybe then, depression would mean something more than a few orange bottles and a boyfriend who doesn’t fucking understand.
Why don’t they ever understand?
Because her found her, he saw. But he was too lost in his own world to notice that every single night she fell down the rabbit hole. Or notice that when it was really bad, she’d sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.
And that sometimes she yanked at her ribcage like maybe she could crack it open and spread her bony wings until finally, finally she could taste something other than iron on her tongue.
He wondered why her kisses always tasted like salt water. He thought of her as an ocean, but couldn’t see that she was drowning in herself.