Broken piece of the headlight.

Mirror?

I can’t see my face there.

Just blood.

And a bright light coming straight at me— not a car,

a question.

“You were always right, sweetheart.

But did you crash the car

because you were fed up?"

I don't answer.

I just stare.

And then I say:

"Maybe.

Maybe because no one was there.

No one stayed long enough…

to see the cracks before the crash.

No one supported me,

So tell me,

am I right?"

The light doesn't speak,

It just fades.

Leaving silence,

and a broken girl

who maybe, just maybe

was always right…

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