Questions

I’m scared and a shy guy. I know nothing about the world, not like you do. I’m petrified, of these roads you travel. I think I will stumble. Did you ever fall down? Did it hurt? I feel the pain too; it’s of a different kind. I don’t have any wounds to show, actually I do have some wounds, but I can’t show it to anyone. They won’t see them, or maybe pretend to not see them.

They say wounds are ugly, are they? Teachers told me to hide them; people will laugh. Why does everyone laugh at us? We all have the same wounds, almost same; ok not same, but still wounds are wounds. Mine isn’t more painful than yours, but it still hurts, yours too I guess.

Do you cry when it hurts? I do cry, and no one wipes my tear, but then I have my own hands to wipe them. I sometimes wipe others’ tears too. I wonder if you do that as well. Do you make them smile?

I like when they smile, even when they pretend to smile. It’s like they’re winning the war that’s going inside them. There’s a war we’re always fighting, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Are you winning yours today?

I am afraid of dark. Are you too? I find it very comforting, more than I’d prefer. I feel like submitting myself to it, just stay there forever. Like an unwritten story lingering in your mind. Like a letter torn to pieces, it exists but not for whom it was meant. Like a secret hidden in a corner.

I know you like secrets. You like sharing them? Share one with me, the most beautiful one; say it aloud, for yourself.