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Lady in Red

Her eyes look lifeless even though she is alive. Her body moves, she swears she could hear her bones creak a little while she moved. She is fragile, almost like a flower; brittle almost like glass and she does not let anyone think otherwise. She puts on a facade, of strength. She lies with her poise, with her smile and with her outlook of having everything working for her, or so they think and she lets them.

She walks, she sees a man she knows and he greets her,”How are you?” “I’m fine.” She lies, then she goes on wondering if he really wanted to know how she was or if he was just being courteous like all the others are with her. They cannot stand her but they have to put up with her. She still feels she has too much to deal with and no one will understand, no one ever does.

She gets to the bus, she sits by the window overlooking everything and not really looking. Her pen and book in hand, writing down every meaningless thought she has or so she tends to think. She feels alone even with all the people around her. The world is on her shoulders and it sits on it. She knows she is blessed but she does not feel it. She wants more and she wonders if that will ever be enough for her.

She wants to let someone in but has no idea how. The one she wants does not want her, that makes her sad but she will live. The ones who want her, well, she is confused and tired. She wants out, she is unloved, unwanted, unmotivated, used and misused yet useless and she lets them call her that. All she wants is to want to live. She wants her want to be enough for her to live for.

She is tired, worn out, undone but she still walks. She walks out of the bus, she walks along the road, she walks into the house and it smells cold and icy. She walks because around her, life still goes on.

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