The Weight of the World

She carries a teardrop in her front pocket.

... a box of joy on her left hip, and a cape tucked under her arm.

Behind those dark shades, you’ll find worry and love.

The fear pushes her back as she crosses the street each day. But A becomes B anyway.

Her moments of relaxation overflow with duty. She can't find the tunnel that devours the hours in the day.

Her quiet time is consumed by crunch time.

Her smile is weak, her laugh feels foreign on days like that.

Her feet convince her she has traveled the world with not a story to tell.

Her heart hangs heavy with guilt and longing and fear and worry and hope and feels cracked and warm and full all at the same moment.

The curtain of night falls, and just as she should have a short escape from it, it engulfs her again.

Her breath is tired. She takes off the mask and falls to the ground.

She lifts her head and is embraced by comfort and care.

But the weight of her world is heavy anyway.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'll deny it all. Life is just as you say it is. She says it is not what you think it is. She simply won't let it be.