Dear Nini,
It's me, Eve.
You know, I've never been insecure about my looks. My friends dissect their height, their hair, their weight-but I've always felt perfectly intact. I genuinely love the face I present to the world.
But that outer confidence is a lie. Inside, I am petrified of showing my feelings.
I used to be a torrent of words. I needed to write everything down, a compulsive urge to map out my inner life. Now, I'm choked by fear. I'm even afraid of writing this, right now-a paralyzing thought: What if someone finds it? They cannot see the weakness beneath the shell.
His brutal words are a constant, metallic clang in the hollow of my chest:
"No boys like this kind of person."
"You always write things down to manipulate me."
"It's all an act. You're desperate for attention."
There are worse things he said. And now, I realize I'm not just afraid-I'm shattered by the thought of revealing that vulnerable side again. I am meticulously building a prison around myself, brick by careful brick, just to stop the catastrophic feeling.
Eve dropped her pen as if it had burned her, leaving an inky streak on the open diary page. Writing is a relentless habit, but she can no longer tell if it's a desperate escape or just another chamber in her self-built cage. It's a closed, soundproof room where she never has to deal with the terrifying honesty of the outside world. No one, absolutely no one, is allowed in.
People talk about life's ups and downs-how some make you strong, and some leave you weak. But they miss the third, most lethal result. Some incidents make you hollowed out from the core. They leave you a traitor to yourself. You become too terrified to even think a thought that might hurt you again.
Sometimes, we distance ourselves from others, not because we are done with them, but because we are terrified of what they might do to the fragments we have left.
Eve is one of them-a girl exquisitely broken by her own honesty.
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Don't know where this story will end don't have any plot. Just feeling like to vent on somewhere.
YOU ARE READING
MY AlORA
Random"He made me trade my violets for roses. Now all I want to be alone . Lead a life where my happiness will not depend on someone. But deep down I know I want to experience a love where I will be not alone in love . My feelings and efforts will be reci...
