We are not well, you and I.

Could be why you’re having a conversation with yourself in the mirror.

You’ve been crying at your desk again. 
You almost cried at lunch.
You are not fine.
Why are you so hard to love?
Why aren’t you like the other girls?
“Is it raining there?”
No. You lie
“Did you walk the dog?”
Yes.  Another lie.
“Are you going to sleep?”
Yes. You spare him the truth of you laying here too apathetic to even want to get up to relieve yourself. You move because even you aren’t that low.
You go out eventually. It’s raining, but you’re too far gone to care.
The rain makes you feel something and that’s better than nothing– even if it’s purely sensory.
Rain is water. Water is wet. You are now wet.
The dog is wet. The dog now smells.
You feel nothing, but that you are slowly getting wetter.
So you walk with the dog trotting besides you, the two of you drowning in April showers.