Everyone’s telling her to pray. She keeps quiet each time they say that, for there was nothing to say.
She has shut the door, withdrawing back into her shell. It’s safer here; Within these four walls. In this cage of her own, she’s free to be herself, to lose herself. Outside, she can only keep a straight face and act aloof. It’s not like her to be that way. But somehow, even though she kept interactions with those people to a bare minimum, her heart had turned cold. Their words scalded her, and their silence froze her. The world outside doesn’t seem pretty anymore now that her vision’s blurred with her tears.
Everyone’s telling her to pray. What can she say?
She feels like another person once she steps out that door. Someone who couldn’t be bothered about the world because the world couldn’t be bothered about her. No, she needs to correct herself each time. That is not the world. That is a nightmare she wishes to wake up from each painful minute surrounded by those fake paper walls which divulge the dark secrets of the hearts of others. She wonders if there’s anyone who can save her. Perhaps there’s no one.
Everyone’s telling her to pray. But how can she bring herself to when she’s forsaken her faith?
People seem to be hurting everywhere, be it in school, at home, and even in church. Is it really human nature to hurt others for our own selfish reasons? Perhaps. Perhaps that’s why wars occur, why people discriminate, why relationships fall apart. She knows she’s the only one who can pick herself up. But her emotions are becoming a drug, coursing through her system. She’s used to crying, and perhaps she doesn’t want to stop. It’s her only release. Telling those who care would only hurt them, and in turn, hurt herself. Yes, she admits it. She’s selfish. And insanity is flooding her mind. Sometimes, she doesn’t want the pain to stop. It makes her feel alive. It sounds pathetic, but it’s good enough for her.
Everyone’s telling her to pray. She wants to, but she feels as if she can’t believe in God right now.
It’s tiring. She knows. She’s bringing it on herself, allowing those hidden daggers to cut right through her skin, the poison trickling in slowly, taunting her. But she can’t be someone she doesn’t admire. She can’t block out everyone because she can’t blame them for the cruel things they think. She knows who she is and she is not who they think she is. But perhaps she’s accepted that this is what humans are best at. Hurting. Everything feels so ridiculous right now. She’s floating in the air, but there’s no air around her. A void. Like her heart. Something’s missing, but she’s not sure if she wants it back.
Everyone’s telling her to pray. She just wants to be alone.
