• Tears falling delicately but troublesomely down my face, creating lines, marks.

    The heart aches, a cascade of worry and sorrow crashing down on me. I cannot control it and therefore it has controlled me.
    My tears are streaks of melancholy.

    I avoid telling people of my troubles that occupy my mind, disintegrating my well being bit by bit. I act happy and cheerful, but inside, a weak imbecile.
    My tears are silent rivers.

    But I want to find comfort, refuge in someone's arms, warmth, understanding. Would someone save me from these eerie depths of obscurity.
    My tear streaks are trails of endless wondering.

    Who's there for me? Who can I trust? Seclusion. I'm surrounded by people, but it adds to my solitude, knowing that they do not know of my pain, and the ones that do know, still do not care.
    My tears are the footsteps of a lonely person.

    For once I want my tears to be outbursts of happiness.

    I wipe away the trails, the footsteps, streaks of sorrow, marks. The evidence has been erased, the evidence of endless wondering, loneliness, misery, tears.
    And now I go about my day, acting like an upbeat simpleton.
    It's deceiving. But so that no one will share my suffering, I hide it away.