Crying in the middle of a crowd, all you want to do is to turn transparent.
You no longer want to dream, to be hurt, or to be heartbroken.
You have already decided.
You're silently enduring it.
Holding it in.
Trying to grasp yesterday tightly in your fists.
Yet the sweeter the memories, the more they cut into your deep wounds.
The more they hurt, the more they leave deep criss-cross shallow cuts on your palms.
You aren't truly happy.
Your smile is just a camouflage that you wear.
Y