She is a million shattered pieces, held together by hope.
Some faint idea that strings up those pieces and keep them together enough to count as a person living through a day.
The make up and the fancy clothes cover the rest like a disguise. The smile is an ornament - just a contraction of muscles exercised to blend in and let the cracks go unnoticed. But in those moments when no one is looking, the eyes fail to keep up with the lie. A soundless cry for hope echoes through those faint corridors into her soul. She's holding on. She's scattering within. And then she sees them see her and that smile comes on again. That corridor is closed again. But the echoes carry on with you. You wonder if you even heard them at all.
Her smile is like a flashlight of happiness. Her look is like she knows it all. But those cries of a shattering soul held together by hope. You wonder.
Was it her?
Was it really her?
Or was it just a reflection...
of you.
- Pushkaraj S Shirke