or when everything is explanationless.
"do you feel sad?" my mother asked me again.
i sighed. "i already told you, i don't know."
"mad?"
i shook my head.
"emotionally retarded?"
i hated that word. i muttered a small "no."
"you're never like this," she observed.
"like what?" it didn't come out as sharp or as mad as normal. simply blank.
"like you're on the brink of tears."
"i'm not."
"but you look like you do."
i knew i was lacking something, but it just had to be my mask.
YOU ARE READING
Smart Girl
Non-Fictionthoughts from the smart girl. //the journal of wren// //highest rank #2 in non fiction// //all names of real people interacted with here are altered from their original versions for privacy's sake//
