How many times have you lied? Are you counting on your fingers, thinking you do not have enough?
Do you now want to tell your friends that you counted endlessly? That you are a brave little soldier, hiding and masking your pity pain by letting others smile instead.
Are you smiling for how courageously you have hid your true feelings from others? Are you not proud? Well, that smile on your face right now is pitiful; it almost looks like you had the wrong citrus fruit.
In your mind, on your name, there must be a room filled with honor badges and trophies and medals, for all the battles you have faced.
Really, though, you attended wars. You watched them from afar, behind a triple layered glass.
While you counted your masks, did you look at the hole in your bedroom door from weeks ago?
Have your badges and trophies been positioned in a way that hides every mark left in the wall by your foot, your fist – your aim? Oh, you must! They must be hidden. Why, no one likes a cowardly soldier. A phony.
You so bravely tells stories about your patience while she has a scar for each time it happened. Each heroic story about you reminds her of a trophy somewhere on her skin.
Few days ago, everyone should have been there, oh, everyone should have witnessed the great tales told by you, my dear! How you turned away when he became furious and how you kissed her cheek when she screamed, oh and how you patiently swallowed the pain caused by old women and terrible looks by older men.
Did you smile again? Are you smiling at your victories?
Another person knows these tales repeatedly. I remember hearing these tales everyday, your stories against each argument I had and your battles against each problem I faced. The superiority has to stay, darling, otherwise you will have to pass down the victim trophy.
Behind that trophy, which object of yours has left a mark on the wall?