She's smiling; her straight row of white teeth showing, cheeks bunched up and dimples exposed. There are crinkles around her big, doe, brown eyes. A sign of happiness. A face of perfection. She sings out loud, a joyous song. She claps her hands and jumps around, proclaiming her joy. She jokes and laughs; knowing all to well that she's being watched. Everyone knows her but only few like her. She is happy and is a spectacle of youth and bouts of energy.
I am but a mere observer to her life. A fly on the wall. A crack in the sidewalk, watching silently. I follow her everywhere, never missing a single detail. She seems like she won't let anybody get to her. No one brings that smile off her face. No one takes the spring from her step. No one steals her spotlight. She's flying high above the demons trying to sink her down to the deep, dark pool of depression. She's alive. She's loud, maybe a little too loud as people say; but who am I to judge?
She's at home. She's alone. She's crying; little parks of sadness and loneliness leak from the dull, big, doe brown eyes. Her mouth? Turned into an upside down smile, an ugly grimace of despair and suffering. Her eyes are shut; no light peeking through. A loud cry of helplessness escapes the cavern of anguish. Screeching for help. The hands and feet that used to participate in a joyous dance are now wrapped in a desperate attempt at warmth and comfort. A glacier slowly sweeping into her chest, weighing it down. She claws at it, trying evidently to ease the pain but alas, there's only so much a girl in this situation can do. I all but watch in a feeling of helplessness as a red line appears on her wrist; horizontally. She cries out in agony but continues to make red lines all over her arms. The blood seeps through the open wounds and she makes no move to stop it. She just sits there, in her room and cries softly. It's sad. I'm just a spectator, not much I can do. I just sit and stare at her Through The Looking Glass.
*fin*
