I saw a young girl today.

In her first year of high school;

14?

15?

She was beautiful, happy and full of life.

Laughing and smiling with her friends.

 

She is only three years younger than I.

Yet I cannot remember a time when I felt as

happy,

fulfilled,

and carefree

as she looked.

 

Was I ever that way?

Truly happy and carefree?

I do not remember such a time,

but I have forgotten much.

 

There are fleeting moments of happiness.

Brought on by a small number of people:

my small circle of friends

(they seem much like the girl to me)

and the girl who I love

(I think she may be like me

and I hope that I bring her happiness,

as she does me.

At least in its ever-fleeting form).

 

Despite the joy inherent in these moments,

they are but far-away stars.

Small points of light,

bringing small signs of hope

to the vast,

empty,

darkness

of space.

 

Perhaps the girl is like me.

Stressed,

lonely,

empty.

Perhaps her beautiful smile and laugh

are just masks for the pain held beneath.

Just as I wear a mask of sarcasm and emotionlessness

to distract myself from loneliness and childhood trama.

 

Is the whole world just a masquerade party then?

People hiding behind different personalities?

Kind.

Cruel.

Humorous.

Rebellious.

Each unique mask saying to the world

“I am ok”

and

“I am happy”

while hiding behind is our true selves:

lonely,

empty,

sad.

 

Or, perhaps, I am alone in my loneliness.

 

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