Due to unforeseen circumstances, the scars were seen. They all look worried but I don’t think its real. The questions are pouring in as I feared they will.
“Why did you do it?”
“Why are you sad?”
“Where are you hurting?”
“What is wrong?”
I don’t want to answer their questions, I don’t think I have the answers they want to hear.
They are running around, trying to meet my every needs. Threading carefully, trying not to trigger it again. They are all whispering, maybe they think the loud noises will push me back. I never wanted them to see it. I didn’t want them to know.
But now that they do, I just wish they wouldn’t act like I am a piece of fine china. I wish they would just look at me and say, “Look at all the great things around you.
What right do you have to be sad?”
By Farida Umar
Industrial chemist in the making
Proud feminist and weirdo
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