She sat on the chair slightly turned away from the computer. Her long hair fell down the back of the seat, as she causually moved her eyes from the screen and to the window. The rain outside kept her feeling cozy, and from where she was, the rain was warm.

Her thoughts of going back were strewed again. The ideas of what to go see, what to say and how to talk were becoming alive once again. No longer did she fakely have to smile, because it would always be honest. She would never have to must show happiness again.

And still, from that chair, her mouth imagined how to smile, but was too weak and too worn to even comprehend.