The Stranger Within

It was as if a stranger had taken residence beneath her skin, mimicking her smile, her laughter, and her tears. But the eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed dull and lifeless, like two stars extinguished by an invisible hand.

She wandered through her days in a daze, trapped in a never-ending cycle of emptiness and despair. Every step felt like a chore, every breath a burden. The world around her was a distant hum, a muffled echo of a life she once knew.

Minutes ticked by like hours, each one a tiny eternity of pain and longing. She felt like she was drowning in seas that didn't exist and living life that wasn't hers.

In those moments, she yearned for time to stand still, for the world to pause its relentless spinning, and for the agony to cease. But time, indifferent and unyielding, kept moving, dragging her along with it, minute by excruciating minute.

That's when she would pick a book from her shelf. Reading would allow her to cry over someone else's sadness when she could no longer identify her own.