... that was the year she suddenly found herself drowning in invisible tears, feeling alone in the universal human struggle for self, amid a sea of impostors who believed they were what they pretended to be...
... and, in the midst of this epic swim, she found she had been blindsided simultaneously from all sides, for no one had adequately explained to her that the true nature of this season would be defined by her mental struggle to cease being defined as her parent's child, and become her own entity...
... as she didn't understand this, so too, she also did not see she was accompanied in this strange sea by others who were there to buoy her up and nourish her soul at times of exhaustion, not the least of which was her father...
... you see, she thought her father believed she was who she pretended to be, for she feared she wasn't worth the minuscule effort it might take for him to see behind the mask of upturned lips and the thin sheet of shallow laughter...
... yet he saw more than she could imagine, he knew it was a mask with a vast chasm of depth behind it, for he saw her eyes betrayed her as if they knew they alone must battle to be seen in agony, and, most easily, he saw how her inflamed conscience attempted to steal her eyes beneath her bangs in shame, as if admitting lack of perfection would be shaming him somehow...
... and though she rarely felt it, for he too was of a stoic, quiet sort when it came to such subjects, the complex lady she had always been beneath the veneer of childhood had been his pride since before she was a glow on her other half's cheek...
... yet still, it was a good mask, and he didn't know the somber shade of that depth was the color of old bruises, and fresh blood, he knew not the perils of descent into that depth, else he would have dragged her to the surface to breathe, and torn the suffocating mask from her whimpering soul...
a/n: credit to my muse,
you'reafinegirl, your eyes
could steal a sailor from the sea.
I believe he sees you.
YOU ARE READING
What I 'Felt' To Say Was...
Şiir"Poetry can be therapy, so shut the door and get comfortable, we've been through a lot since our last visit. Glad to see you brought coffee. Just a reminder, I know this is expensive, but like life there are no guarantees. I do expect to stir s...
