Panda

Friends

       Through the years I have met many people I call "friends", but none have ever stayed long. Wether it be for one reason or another we always ended up being separated, before long I got used to it.
   Wherever I went I could be anyone, I could be loved by any, and I could be the best yet I was no one, dismissed as just the scene, and only be as expected. I was someone but no one all the same, and who I was depended on what they saw. Therefore, I chose to be part of the broken. Though I only stood to them as the support, the one to listen and never more. Even so I enjoyed my time with them.
        Them. The outcasts. The misfits. The freaks. The broken. Call them what you will, but know within the diversity they all held from me, I grew fond of them. For as different as they were, we all shared that same hatred for our being wether we said it or not. We all had felt that inner instinct of avoidance to gaze into the mirror, for that tremor of hatred within those reflected dead eyes, that grotesque face staring back at us taunted what little will to live we still held. Thus, we all banded together, though wether they saw threw my mask and chose to ignore or if all they saw was my smile I never knew. Though I could care less for what they saw of me, just being within them as a sorts of support was enough. The sight of them growing, overcoming what life held for them, witnessing that flame of theirs burn brighter after each pain was all I could ask for.
   As the sight of their ever stronger soul only gaining more strength with each new obstacle brought hope in my small world. It gave me dreams of a grandiose future to where only happiness filled my heart in oppose to a frigid void. A future to where I had a place to belong without the need of a mask, a home to where I could return instead of a cold house.
          Childish: naive; I know. I know these dreams were nothing more than that, dreams. Illusions to which I would wake up from with shivering from the splash of icy reality. I knew how society was despite my young age, I knew that without a mask to hide behind I would never last. I am weak and weak will I always be. I know better than anyone of my limits, yes I know that I, myself is what has always held me back. What has always prevented me from ever being the best. Yet I have no will to change, no courage to rip my mask, and no strength to rise against my void.
          However, as useless as my dreams were they gave me comfort in the loneliest of days, warmth in my coldest hours, and hope to live on within my deadliest thoughts. Therefore, as fleeting as my friendships were, as tiring as my constant smile was I continued on with my endless act. I kept my silence and feigned happiness in order to live on. To live as a support for the broken, an aged chair of reliability to those no longer able to walk, a constant save haven to those within the pits of hell. Yes I may be a fool to constantly torment myself with an act. A facade to which only grates my very being til soon I may collapse, an act created through years of solitude and pain. Though I am thankful to this mask as it allowed me to meet and befriend some of the brightest people of life.