misha writes. duh.

She put on the sweater, and suddenly she was too hot. But without it, she was cold again. And she read too much into that, as she did most things these days. Too much time spent in her head. Too much time being untouched. The object behind the glass in a museum that had lost all meaning. An artifact. Unused and dying. Cold. Sweater-less. Where were the naughty boys who ignored the “hands off” signs? Their dirty finger tips leaving violent smudges on the glass. Proof of their need. Proof that she was real and used.