As I lay...

With a self-mocking smile she glances down at the clock in the corner of the screen. 2:45 AM, she sees; a dull white, opaque font, set on an equally depressing wallpaper - reddish pink wisps of smoke captured midway as it floats up against a rather dispassionate stark white background. The ill-lit room is a mess by all standards: the unkempt wardrobe, clothes spilling out of the overflowing laundry bag, the bed which hasn't been made for months, the million bottles of moisturizers, body creams, perfumes and the lot, strewn all around on and at the foot of the dresser, the window sill only redundant with mascaras, pens, pencils, notes-to-self and other invaluable trinkets; all in all, indicative of the tumultuous mind that now lay on the bed, a frail girl in her 20s.

"The night's still young", she thinks to herself. The nights have been starting early in the morning and ending soon afterwards, for a few months now. Her preoccupied disposition - an appearance of perpetually lost in ponderment - is the only expendable feature on an otherwise personable semblance. And as a lock of her hair gently wafts down her cheek, much to her annoyance, she pouts sidewards to blow it only to find it fluidly fall back at the same place, only this time as a silky curtain across her face...

It has been two long years since she left home in search of a more secure future - financially and otherwise. She now feels the pangs of loneliness, of not having the comfort of a family when she returns home after a tiring day and more so, of not having friends. She has had no friends in an alien land she now called home, neither to hang out with, nor to talk to. And that goes hard on any person, is only universally accepted. 'The wound is fresh, yet runs deep'. Although it has been only a couple of years in seclusion, solitude - unsought, is the harshest of the miseries of man. "But why? Why do I not have friends? What is it that I lack, or they want, or I have done wrong, or am I surrounded by the wrong people or what is wrong with me?" she asks herself. "Alright. I have had enough, and this has to end. Here, and right now. I am only as strong as my resolve is, and I will not let my loneliness bother me anymore.", she mumbles as she takes a swig from the glass of water. An empty little box of pills and its cap lay strewn on the floor. She quickly turns over, reaches across the bed over the window sill, grabs a pencil and a piece of stick-on and hurriedly scribbles something. Another glance at the corner of her laptop screen - '3:30 AM', she switches it 'off' and bids it goodnight. 

In the faint glimmer of light from pinholes in the window blinds from a streetlight outside, the yellow note can barely be read - Get the pills, first thing today!