paperback passages

no one seems to understand her sadness and stress; she’s beautiful and her life seems like a magnificent mess. But things are not always an envious dream; even when you have everything, you can still end up empty.

she was different. she liked reading three books in a day and drinking blackberry wine before bed. she entertained the troubles that danced around in her head. instead of going out and doing shots, she stayed at home, drowned in crime tv and her own thoughts. she was different, and everybody but her could tell; no one could understand her, and she barely understood herself.

and just like the sun, some days she was great and bright, but other days, spots in the sky clouded her smile and shielded her light.

she hated people, but not because of who they were, but because of who she was. she hid from the world for a little while, while everyone else skipped by and smiled. their lives seemed bright and breezy, a place where being happy was easy. from them she felt so far, living in the cold and the dark. she longed to feel hot rays on her face, to live in the light, to be in a clear and mellow place, to exist without a fight.

It was easy for everyone else to smile and laugh, while it came natural for her to be sad. Everyone else skipped and played in the sun, as she walked in the darkness for fun. She wrote poetry with wet cheeks and dwelled on days of TV; everyone else made plans for weeks and seemed all too simply happy. Could smiles come without pain, or was she just insane? She was tired of life’s sick little games.

She was tired of begging to be loved, but even when she was, she pushed them all away. She didn’t know why she had such means words to say, why she felt such anger in her soul every day. People wrapped their arms around her, but she still felt so cold and bare; she couldn't figure out why she always stayed quiet, instead of screaming to the world how much she cares. She felt sorry for those around her, who knew and loved her when she was normal, happy; for now she was someone she didn’t even know, someone she never really wanted to be.

He liked the way she smelled like hairspray, and her eyes looked tired when it rained. She was a mystery, a thriller, an unsettled case; he searched to solve her every day. She would smile and say his name, and go on like things were the same, but inside she was dying; inside, she was going insane.

She was mean sometimes, but didn’t know why. Her voice cracked as she lashed out, her words spewing with anger and too much wine. She couldn’t sleep at night, tried to run away from her mind. She was afraid of everything, everyone, searching for ways to get by, but her fears always kept her inside, on the ground, even when she wanted to fly. She wondered if she’d ever feel normal, content, smile with intent, if the New Year would bring fewer fears, less shame. So as the clock struck midnight and marked a new slate, she hoped for something better, hoped she’d never be the same.