Illusion
Does he see the endless nights spent alone, distracting myself the only way I know how?
No.
Does he see that my work isn’t really my life, but that it merely keeps me busy enough so that I don’t notice my life?
Or lack thereof?
No.
He never sees that.
He sees only an illusion. Not me.
He sees a woman to be worshipped.
How wrong he is.
Only two have seen the depths of my fear and my voluntary solitude.
One is the strongest shoulder I have ever leaned on, and the other is forever out of my reach.
The End
