I learned at a young age that the world does not want to see your pain. So I hurt just the same, only hidden; behind closed doors, in broom closets, under sheets, in the pages of my guarded journals, and often in the arms of forgotten lovers. I felt everything, all of the weight of the world and of myself, but I put on a face and did not let it show. Because the world is sensitive; it doesn’t want to see all of the pain it inflicts or it may just break. And it’s hard to cry alone, but it’s even harder to cry when the world is broken, too.

Pretending is easier. Pretending is safer.

possible intro to a novel I will never finish

2 thoughts on “Pretending

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s