She was nothing but a daisy that shone in darkness as it ate her up slowly like she was nothing at all.
Since that day I have not seen a single light, not even once, I recall.
It’s been so long, but still, my wounds revive every time I look into the mirror.
Darkness is what I see.
Darkness is me.
Exercise the writing muscle every day, even if it is only a letter, notes, a title list, a character sketch, a journal entry. Writers are like dancers, like athletes. Without that exercise, the muscles seize up.