February 5, 2020:

Her hair had no color. The non-shade of none, emblem of the empty space she did not call life.

The Closet Girl, broken in her silent way, unspoken.

That quiet hillbilly stock. Maybe "brood" is the better word? That silent death that dare not speak at all.

Her hair had no color. Her tongue had no speech. Her arms held no comfort. She received none, she left none behind.