the threads in her head

I don't know how to face tomorrow.

This coming morning to be exact.

"Woah darling, that's so fake."

Let's stop those fake smiles, because I've never cared for you much and you've never cared for me too I think. The feeling should be mutual. I can't connect to you, nor talk to you. There is no similar interest as far as I can see. You click well with the others. Fashion and clothes, the latest gossip, boys and eye candies, the latest star, the cutest thing ever.

I can listen, but I can't join in. I can't continue a conversation like that.

You think you know me. I cringe at your impressions. No, not because they are awful. But because they are so good, and I know I'm not what you think. My self and the impression you have of me are such polar opposites I don't recognise myself when you describe me. Open up your eyes dear, and your mouth, and ears, and you'll realise I am actually like you, maybe even worse. Don't you realise everytime you say stuff like that you're stabbing a knife into me, and twisting it hard hard hard as I suffer from pangs of self-rebuke?

Oh wait, I forgot. You don't have the time to do it I think.

So let's stop all this.

**

But stopping would kill me. And it's not what God wants too.

But what then?

I'm already slipping, and each session is a facade.

And I don't see how you can throw two people together and ask them to make friends just like that. Well perhaps you can actually. But the way you've put that process into words, and assigned us partners, and all, it feels weird.

Thanks for forgetting me though. That was the only good part.

But my sister was there, so I had to raise my hand and inform you of my lack of a partner.

I believe I've been thrown into that with her because I'm supposed to be the more mature one guiding. Of course the possibility that it could be the other way round is just as high. And I'm wishing that it's the other way round. But something, something of me say it isn't.

Pride, is that you? Or is it something else, like rationality of mind, or the skeptic?

What can I do for a babe, the one whom God already so tenderly loves?

**

Tomorrow's questions are going to twist themselves in my heart.

But being me, I have the textbook perfect answer. As always.

This is not maturity speaking. This is an above average academic ability speaking.

**

Would it be more apparent, if I run away and go sit at the pond?

Nah. That might be too attention-seeking.

Then again, whoever questioned?

Maybe I shall.