Her hair was in a tragic disarray, not unlike the rest of the house. A strange echo meme, the mess of the environment reflected the mess of the person living in it, reflecting back the utter haphazard, flailing dissonance of the life half lived.
He looked around, taken aback. First at the pigsty that was her hair, and then at the pigsty that was the room. A book that had been precariously perched on the edge of a shelf crashed to the floor with a definitive, accusatory thud. He flinched. Less at the sound, more at the entire…situation that surrounded them both.
“Are you okay?” He shifted from foot to foot, not sure if he wanted to leave, not sure if he wanted to stay.
She drew the frayed edges of her sweatshirt together around her skinny frame, unsuccessful in covering herself; the zipper had somehow become lost, and the seams where the zipper had been were disintegrating. “I just want to feel normal.”
“What is normal, anyway?” he asked as he made his way over to the window. The fresh air felt good on his skin. Like renewal.
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. But I want to find out.”
“I don’t think anybody knows.”
And that was the truth of it. In the disaster that had become their lives, they knew that they weren’t the only ones who faced this mess. Everyone did. Everyone wanted to feel normalcy. But no one had the roadmap that magically led there. They were all stumbling in the dark, hoping that tiny match would be enough light until morning.