She sees this thing called caring, and she hates it. If caring is caring, how can it come in words not spoken? She dreams like they do, and scorns the lack of friends. If it's purpose she needs, she wonders where theirs is. Hypocrites -- the whole lot of them.
She hears the sounds of laughter. The words "blessing" and "prayer" keep coming and coming and coming. With looks of sympathy -- or hate? -- they cross her gaze, and she feels small. So very, very small.
There are things withheld from her. She sees the secrets behind the hands of the holy, and she knows they're talking about her. Sinner. Loser. Lost one.
Everyone knows she needs to find her way to where they have come because obviously they have arrived. But no one will show her where to step, or how. No one will ask if she even wants to find her way. They just stare at her. They stare and keeping talking behind their hands. And wait for something...
She wishes she knew what that something was. But the biggest joke of all is that no one will ever tell.
1 comment:
wow
i read this...
and all i can think is:
I sure hope that I am not like the ones 'she' sees.
I hope I'm a witness who truly helps others get closer to where they need to be.
I hope no one around me looks at me, and sees what 'she' sees!
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