when she went home, her hiccups filled the dead room. she couldn't take it anymore. writing her feelings wasn't the best solution, and she wasn't brave enough to tell what she had in her mind.
she had the mute depression. she was faking happiness in front of people. she had sweet laughs but bitter thoughts. she was texting jokes with a frowning face, and worst of all; they believed every smile she faked even though they were screaming at them to notice that opal was suffering inside. opal needed someone only to ask her if she was okay.
she once almost told her mother about what she was bottling inside of her, but when she looked in her eyes--she hesitated. her eyes were a field screaming green in spring. opal didn't want to bring autumn to her eyes. she crashed into a wall of fear that day, and today her heart was cruelly demanding for comfort.
opal took her journal. she started translating her feeling into words and her tears were writing with her in that empty white paper.
YOU ARE READING
mute depression
Poetry"We choose our sorrows and our joys long before we experience them." © 2015 by NoiseOfSilence. All rights reserved.
