Or not

She was having a certain level of difficulty pin pointing the exact moment it had started.  She knew that it started somewhere.  Everything else always did.  Perhaps it had been an instant during the abysmal summer that she could not smile.  Not even if she had wanted to.  Everyone smiles...every now and then.  She didn't smile for over a year.  If she had, her face would have cracked like a dry lump of clay turned brittle.  Clay can't always house a pretty plant.  When clay is bad, it's bad.  Cumbersome, it fit her well in her perdition.  Clay hell.  It wasn't even a blessing in disguise as I might have hoped for, had i given a shit about her.  No.  It would just have broken apart and revealed nothing.  Cracking an eggshell and finding no phlegmy whites, no sticky mustard yolk...just an ossuary.  Who builds a clay mask for a headless person?  I think she did that summer.  Part of the reason she couldn't recall the hour it had started was this;  she could not keep track of days.  Her days were mainly constructed of water or some other liquid.  They easily blended into one another in the oceanic way fluid does.  She had no land mass hunks of life that she could use to coordinate her position.  Her Tuesday was a copy of her Saturday- discerning from them was dependent upon the weather.  If she looked outside and saw bits of snow falling from the sky she knew that it was winter. She could remeber that it had snowed on Saturday.  She always drove me fucking nuts with her superfluous moods.  She had told me once that she felt like a piece of lint, floating.  But that you can only see lint when it passes through a ray of sunshine coming from a window.  I knew she wasn't that weightless.  No, she was heavy.  A densely weighted thing that just was sort of there.  She couldn't have been any more there than if she had given birth to herself, over and over for infinity.  During one of her flinty moods, I watched her.  She kept bringing things in and leaving them there.  I couldn't tell you why.  It wasn't really like her.  But, when she was in this mood, she would.  I suppose I assumed that she was attempting to fill of the empty space up.  Maybe she felt empty...but, anyway it pisses me off.  It has become my life mission to make this piece of moody lint happy.  Even if she never smiles.