The Soul's Voice

Salt Water

I have seen a pattern emerge in life. The process of getting to know someone goes a lot like this-

When they tell me about themselves, this is what I think- how happy, how wonderful, how interesting their life is.

Days pass, weeks pass- they keep me in the same illusion. It is very easy for them, you see. They have perfected the art of pretend.

Months later, they tell me about their pasts. They don't plan on that but it happens. Like a brimming cup that can't help but splatter some of it's contents on the floor.

Breaking point, they call it and dismiss it as a silly thing.

Why do you want others to think it's silly when you know it's not? I want to ask them but it's difficult. They render you speechless when they recollect it all.

All you can think is "My god, how do you even smile?" But all you can say is "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

It troubles me how hollow we sound when we say sorry. Like it's an obligation. That's not what anyone wants to hear. But what do they want to hear? Nothing can possibly be comforting enough for someone who got crushed under mountains and is currently drowning in an ocean.

Wading through life with fractured limbs is not an easy task. I want to tell them I know that. I understand.

Everyone tells them to cry. Let it all out. It helps, they say. But how much? I think, to what extent? It is salt water after all, not some healing ointment.

Every day when I see them pretend to be fine, I shatter a little inside.

Then there are those- the bottled up ones. Who have concluded the world is already a very dark place and they won't spill out their own. They keep the poison inside. It is scary living inside a body like that, don't they know?

My god, this is a college, not a trauma center.
These are kids, not soldiers.
These are humans, not robots made of metal.
They can only take so much.

Some days, the world slips into a spiral. With too many unsavory ingredients rolling inside. There are too many sad stories, too many tragedies, too many fake smiles, too many people pretending to be okay.

I wonder when I see the world- When did it become okay to wear a full time mask?

Doesn't it feel sticky on your skin? Doesn't it smother you? Don't you want to take it off?

Sometimes, I think, our skin needs to breathe.

Breaking point, they call it. I call it finally breathing.