'I want to mask you something.'
I wear a mask and I wear it glued to my soul. We all do. Life is a masquerade ball. One cannot simplistically explain the complexities of broken hearts, and that's a fact. There is no words that can rectify the meaning of a broken heart. Broken hearts and breaking hearts is the theme of our generation. I can't help but wonder if we will ever learn to illuminate a soul for intercity and experience a truly everlasting love. I'm curious, I wonder, what every single person who walks into my life. It's hard not to wonder what they mean, are they a metaphor? What do they stand for? I question their actions, I question their being. I wonder how they will hurt me, not if, how.

I have felt the shiver of a cold night, I have felt the shiver of fear and the shiver of excitement of a lover on top of me. I want to know the cost, the sacrifice, of this shiver. What shall I sacrifice in order to explode with these shivers? I have lost too much in a too short space of time. I want it back, back, back, you know who you are. A set of birthdays ended too soon and it hurt, and it broke my heart. An old lover came at the same time as a new lover, and I broke a heart. I wonder and wonder what I can do to make a difference. I bicker all night with my head and my heart, telling myself there is nothing I can do as though that condones my (lack of) action.

I wear a mask from the inside-out. A mask glued to my soul and painted on my face. We all wear masks, society begs. But it's when the time comes to remove these masks, when society begs, and our masks are removed, that the trouble begins. Because we've been wearing them for so long, that by the time we remove them, we've already forgotten what was truly beneath them.

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