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In a small room that sits bare of decoration save for a few street signs here and there. Signs she hopes may one day direct her in the right path and lead her away from this void of being. She sits and writes of how it feels to be lost in ones own world. Taking a break from her worried thoughts she rises and leads to the bath room. She runs the water and stares at it for a second or so and sighs. It’s like her emotions at this moment. A broken faucet who's water continues to pour out down the drain. She scoops her worn hands into the running water to cradle the cold wet liquid. She pats her face and catches a glance of her reflection. Time and travel were showing. The lines were creeping into her cheeks. A couple more years and she’d look her age. No longer as a child, but as a worried old woman forced to live her life alone. Daring not to look into her eyes she looks down to her dripping wet hands and reaches for the towel. Resting right by the sink as if enticing her to look back into her reflection, it falls and she bends to pick it up. Catching her eyes this time in the reflection she drops the towel again and stares into the dark almost black irises. Such pretty eyes, yet such a deep secrete that she her self is afraid to open.