There’s no other word to describe it. You were hesitant to claim that this was the truth at first, but it’s exactly how it looks. The words that kept tumbling out of her mouth were made of fire. It burned even before it touched you.
You know you’ve made mistakes. Plenty. But was there no room for softness?
To a point, you almost don’t exist. You found an asylum sitting in a mesh of green and only with the presence of your thoughts. You’re alone, and free to create a river that stretches as far as you can see.
Is this real? Her eyes; behind them is there a sort of sorrow? Maybe if you squinted hard enough you could see it. It must be there.
Did the horrors make her numb? She had been burnt too.
You realize the fire has become a cycle. And you know that it is possible for you to end it. But already too filled to the brim with the heaviness of words that you’ve been forced to carry; it is more so a hope.
You are a hypocrite in your own eyes. A smile so bright plastered on your face when the sun rises. But it always sets too soon.