Georgia
seven
“I don’t feel tired anymore,” she says softly from her chair. “I don’t feel anymore."
“Why?”
She doesn’t respond, gripping her cup tighter in her hands. She was about to cry, she was about to tell him things she'd sworn to herself she’d never share with anyone. She bit her lip, waiting for the fire in her blood to erupt.
"Maybe I don't want to." She stares ahead. “I don’t believe in happiness anymore.” He gazes at her, her hair knotted at the ends, sticking out in the back, parted wrong. “How can you be happy . . . when there’s so much to be sad about?”
“Why?”
She doesn’t respond, gripping her cup tighter in her hands. She was about to cry, she was about to tell him things she'd sworn to herself she’d never share with anyone. She bit her lip, waiting for the fire in her blood to erupt.
"Maybe I don't want to." She stares ahead. “I don’t believe in happiness anymore.” He gazes at her, her hair knotted at the ends, sticking out in the back, parted wrong. “How can you be happy . . . when there’s so much to be sad about?”