Reflection Under Street Lights

The light outside is fading. Just a sliver of warmth remains, crushed by the chill of shadows. She doesn't mind. Leaves twist around her feet, gone as soon as they come. Her hair dances to a melody she can't hear. Her fingers are cold, shoved deep into her pockets. One pocket has a hole, she can feel it. She almost laughs at the irony. A hole in her pocket, a hole in her self. Something's changed and she doesn't know what it is. It left her this way, alive but not living. She can feel her feet take the steps, but she doesn't remember making a conscious effort to move them. She doesn't even remember leaving. Maybe tonight will be the night it changes, maybe in the morning she'll be able to feel again. Feel something other than that dull ache. She doesn't even know why she has the pain, just that it is always there. Has it always been there though? She knows it hasn't, but she can't see to remember what not having it felt like. Maybe it's the change, the dimly lit future ahead of her. Maybe it's him, again. Maybe it's the normal state things always seem to be in. Maybe it's all of these things, combined to create a cage around her. She's scared, but the panic never seems to make it to the surface. She is calm. Too calm. She catches herself doing it again, as she turns down the street. She's memorizing the way the trees look, the slope of the street, the smell. Yesterday she memorized his face, his smile. The day before, her room, her house. The way the walls felt as she ran her finger slowly along it. She's afraid that she will forget. Afraid that it will disappear before she even knows it's leaving. Afraid that one day it will be gone, part of a disorted dream some night.
And, yet, she's afraid that it will always be the same. That nothing will change, that the familier will hold her captive all these years to come. She wonders if she's crazy sometimes, if maybe something finally snapped. Somedays she feels like a hologram, ready to shimmer and fade away at any moment. Other days she feels solid, content even. Those days seem so short, so fleeting.
She reaches the door, knowing the smile will have to find a way to her face before she opens it. She'll have to pretend another night. Maybe, just maybe if she pretends enough nights in a row even she might start to believe it...