Smiles

When he asked me what my smile meant, I shrugged it off. If only he knew all that I was thinking. 

"You and I want the same things out of life." Don't say that! I wanted to scream, but all I could do was keep smiling. 

A smile can hide a lot of things. Sometimes a smile is something other than an indication of happiness, but an outward expression of a sarcastic chiding to the self. A "I should have known" or "of course this X thing would happen" or "how ironic."

I've been told all of my life that I'm a bad liar, and my eyes have always given me away. Behind the blue-green exterior, there are longings and emotions that are felt too deeply, and can be transmitted no other way than through the nuances of the eyes, for words are too clumsy to explain these things. Thank God it was dark and the shadows hid my eyes from further examination.

I am an emotional sado masochist, placing myself in situations that do nothing but throw the truth and pain in my face. I'm not wanted. I'm not coveted, I'm not seen as anything special out of the crowd. I don't mean anything to any man. And it should seem so cruel to be made to crave something so much and live many years without it. Almost as if the Creator wanted to play a sick joke: I will Create this person who yearns for this, and I'll dangle a bone in front of her nose every once and a while, but she'll go what feels like an eternity without gnawing on it. 

How can my voice sound so small and childish when I have so many things to say with an intensity? When I feel full of passion for the word? How can I feel simultaneously so young and inexperienced, and yet so old and mature? How can I be so impatient and yet be calm and hopeful? Perhaps within my multitudes, I am a series of opposites as well.