The bathroom floor never complained.

She walked off the train like a zombie; cold and quiet with one foot in front of the other all the way to the bus platform. The air was getting colder every minute she spent in the middle of that line. Her ears turned red because of the -15 wind chill and her wool gloves weren't helping either. She stared in the direction of the bus route between each breath. It was a long day and rush hour didnt make it end any faster. They say the best way to fix a bad day is to end it. Its always easier said than done. The whole year had been like one, over stretched bad day and there was no ending it. Not only was it painfully long, it was slow, lonely and alienating. Thats one thing about secrets, that is the thing about secrets. The best day to tell it was yesterday, not today and definitely not tommorow. When you stayed quiet in the yesterday, your today and tommorow is served to you on a dark, cold platter. No matter how many buses you wait for, no matter how many excuses you give yourself about keeping things to yourself(the good, the bad and the god forbidden ugly), you are wrong. You can cry for as many hours as you want and no one listens to it. It doesnt matter if every sad lyric of every song relates to you. God is the only one who knows everything you have hidden and your bathroom floor is your comarade through the guilt trips, panick attacks and breakdowns. You lie down on the cold, green tiles and you cry, vent till your feet are numb and your face is drenched in your own saline tears. You are alone and you dont know what to do, so you hide it for another day and sleep for another lonely night and fake another tommorow.