Someways, it's enough. Enough to go to that park, watch the grass move hairs width by hairs width, staring at the crushed up cigarettes on the cement, building up the courage to by one pack herself. It's enough, some days, to lie there and look up at the gold flecked, moonstruck silver blue sky, and match the faces in the heavens to the ones she knows; whether she finds the faces she needs in the sky depends on the day. Some days, it's enough for her to sit and stare at the people passing, wishing that maybe her old family, the one she hadn't wanted at first, but became her family anyway, might pass by; they could stop for a drink- she has 5 bucks in her pocket, and Starbucks isn't that expensive- and just talk.

And some days it isn't enough, some days it isn't even close to enough, some days, it takes all she has not to stop the universe and scream and beg and demand for everything to be put back to rights, because, yeah, she has a roof over her head and friends and family that may 'love' her, but there's no way in hell that that's enough, and it just isn't fair. She sees pictures of her old family and wonders why she can't be as happy as everyone else, and who the hell are they to be happy without her, damn it. It doesn't even seem like they miss her, and if she's honest with herself (heaven forbid), it seems as if their better off.