The Yellow Line

The yellow line of the road pounded against her eyes as her headlights illuminated it, causing her head to spin slightly. She was driving a little too fast. She hadn’t passed another car for a few miles and took the opportunity to flick on her bright lights, causing the yellow line to shine even brighter, again rocking her corneas. She was so happy, driving late at night to meet no one as not a soul wondered of her whereabouts. She thought the idea made her happy, but she was gravely disappointed as a twinge of self-loathing hit her once again. Here she was, alone, her ugliness keeping men away, keeping a husband and lover away. She wanted someone. She had spent the whole evening, alone; thinking of beautiful poetry, alone; watching a romance movie, alone. And people wondered why she hated herself. If no one else could love her, why should she? She looked over out the window for a moment to look down at the yellow line, guiding her down the road. Why couldn’t she have some sort of line leading to her soul mate? Why didn’t she deserve to feel special and beautiful like everyone else? Why was she so horribly ugly?