The Act
No one talks about it. No one mentions it. It's like it never happened, like it doesn't exist.
But it does. I live it every day. I see it every time I close my eyes, and I feel a stinging pain on the back of my neck every once in a while.
I hear it in my nightmares. Sometimes I wake up and it's still there.
I can feel it in the kitchen. I shudder every time I get close to it.
I hate talking to it. Every word heard or spoken makes my chest tighten even more.
I hate looking it in the eyes. Its dead eyes. I can see the madness in every particle in its pupils.
We all act as if it does not exist. You laugh at its awkward attempts of making light of itself, but I'd rather be killed by it. I hope the next time it happens, it kills me. Maybe with that, you wouldn't have to keep acting like it doesn't exist. Maybe by then, the curse will have broken.
I can see traces of it sometimes, hidden underneath their breaths. I can hear it from where I hide. But when I come out, they continue their act, and so do I.
It lives in me now. I am trapped inside of it and it is one with my soul. It becomes one of these parts I have the urge to kill. I never really wanted to die of course — I love living. But living with it being in me is unbearable.
I've never loved you. The closest I've felt to love towards you is pity. I pity you.