I was always a hostile little girl.
I never knew the definition of good, the meaning behind kind acts or caring smiles. I always found those things so painted and strained. I wasn't the one to look for the light in your eyes, but for the dark in your heart. I still do. I never stopped.
Sure, when I was a young, I smiled at every living thing, that's how I began walking on my toes. But then my father left, and my eyes adjusted to the dark. I keep living in that thick darkness, where the light is too scared to show its face. I was cruel to the kids with both, stable parents. I sat alone and glared at the living with a burning passion, wondering why I deserved this.
Later, I started seeing other dark shades at the corners. I saw the lies slipping between the lips of lovers and families and friends; the knives that are being pushed into people's backs; the hushed whispers to destroy someone's reputation. I started noticing the black areas of this world, and I came to the conclusion that this world didn't deserve my smiles or happiness. It deserves the coldness it gives everyone else.
But for some unknown reason, I still fucking care.
