lame new story

i just wrote this and haven't revised it at all so it's pretty terrible right now. but it's something i'm going to work on later and i thought i might be able to think about it differently if i put it out somewhere to air.

she sits looking out the window, hair in her eyes. she's too tired to bother brushing it away - or maybe she just doesn't notice anymore - so instead she keeps her arms folded across her as though they can keep her thoughts from exploding out of her chest, through her lungs, and into her voice. because, she figures, as long as they stay buried they aren't real.
inside she feels like she's on fire, except for her fingers which are ice cold to the touch.
she hasn't slept in days and it's starting to show. the slivers of darkness under her eyes match the dark spots in her mind, the ones that keep swimming through her thoughts trying to cover the brightness.
it's four a.m. and she's still looking out the window. her roommate wakes up and asks what she's doing, says "you have a final in the morning and so do i so go to sleep." but she doesn't understand that sleep isn't something that can be commanded, it's something that has to come.
she strains her eyes, desperate to see the stars that are blotted out by the dim orangeness of the city lights, craning her head upward so long that her neck becomes stiff and knotted with anxiety about the vanished stars. what if the stars are like her thoughts, and not seeing them makes them untrue?
suddenly she's crying and she can't feel them slipping down her face like rain down a windowpane, but they course down her face and drip onto the bedspread. her roommate sits up again and asks what's wrong? but she can't speak for the longest time and when the girl in the bottom bunk falls asleep again she thinks to herself that maybe the stars aren't gone, maybe she just can't see them anymore.