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For the rare times when I write. 
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| She smiled at everyone, the sweetest smile ever, Some people even called her pretentious. She was simply too perfect, kind and gentle, caring and loving, helpful, jolly and understanding, and as ideal as one could ever be. But the more I stayed by her, the more I began to fear that in the depths of her heart, she concealed great misery. Nonetheless, the smile stayed, And of course, so did I, trying to get to know and understand what it was that she'd hidden away. As we sipped coffee at lunch one day, she whispered to me, 'Do you remember the way your mother estranged you? It was a dark and rainy day. Yet you wouldn't cry, you tried to remain brave.' I was shook with fear, eyes widened, hands trembled. No one could've possibly known that. My mother was far too pride to admit it, and embarrassment wouldn't let me speak. 'How do you know? All I've ever told was that my mother died when I was too young.' 'You can lie to people all you want, but you'll never be able to lie to me. I know you think of me as ideal and that I'm the woman you aspire to be. But I also know that you suffer from severe depression and anxiety. 'What? No I don't! I'm fine and dandy!' 'You can lie you yourself, stay in denial, but you simply cannot lie to me, for I am you consciousness, your desires conjured into existence, I'm the kind of woman you've wished to be. Put people before yourself, be their savior and protect them from distress, 'cause you've, rather, we've truly seen great intensity of pain and you don't want anyone to inflict that in any way. But it's enough now, you may rest, for you cannot heal anyone if you don't heal yourself. Quit forcing yourself to smile like that, like evil spirits forcing you into numbness. We both know that you, too, can feel.' And I began to cry for the first time in my memory. For the first time I cracked and for the first time I felt free. Line count 48 |
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