the truth was in her eyes.

Somehow I knew what she saw,
what she thought or what she believes she did.

I've gotten used to the silent kill, the dead but still breathing, eyes deceiving, and the lies behind the nodding. All this while thinking my heart was on my sleeves when it has been stuck in my throat like a lump of gum, all of which I have swallowed since the day I've discovered its existence combined. There were moments it became the reason behind my difficulty to talk, sometimes suffocating, greater than my G in maths as I told her I was:

OK.

Feeling this hot but damp liquid falling from my eyes to my cheeks and then my fingers as I try to stop it but it seems like my body has it's own mind and my eyes itch of showing what lays inside. She saw, a bit too late. Just like everybody else and I knew there was nothing more to say than "OK". As what she thought wasn't what I knew, and the truth is still somewhere beneath my feet struggling to get out jumping to her table but caught in the grasp of my hands as I threw it back down so vigorously stomping on it with my mind. "SIT STILL!", bang bang it stopped. Shut down your mind, how could I have break at that very moment. Felt so betrayed, by my own bloody self. Get your shit together! - and I smiled a little bit. I laughed and everything was OK again. At least that's what she saw, that's what I showed.

It wasn't her, or her job, or where I am and what I'm doing there. It was the beginning, that morning. All I wanted those few days was to be understood, but hopes are bound for dejection when it comes to me. So I hide behind this charade. Not knowing when it will stop, I keep moving on.

-riri-