She held her head in her hands, with her thumbs brushing soothingly over her coarse hair. To give herself comfort; as if she didn’t get her full of empathy from the many others’ solace and care. The many so called “friends” she had. They did come visit recently, and went. Out of her depressing bedroom, wondering silently if they should be there. Doubting their soothing gestures authenticity, not understanding the origin of her breakdown.

She never wanted their pathetic attempts at caring. She never wanted fraud or deception. she wanted real love. But,she certainly didn’t say anything about that confusing, subconscious, fantasy she new little about. Still I’m sure it pondered in her mind, a fragmented thought or feeling. Telling her what she needed.

She refused to listen ,though, of course she did. Like every other person in this screwed up world. She was so self-absorbed with the physical, her appearance, what was important to her or her friends. She was so caught up in the moment, in the reality she lived in; that she couldn’t even see her own emotions. Which were so eager to be recognized, to be somehow, in any way, expressed. Patiently awaiting the slightest feeling that was genuine. Not artificially wrapped in drama, suffocated by the  unrealistic features of her broken life.

Honesty will always be interesting, but to be truthful, especially to yourself, may be our biggest battle.