Why does she keep booking tickets home but can never stay?
Why do her friends show her support, worth and way but her parents make her... called her an ungrateful bastard?
Is passion for life a synonym for death which is being chiselled in her eyes?
Should she ever come back?
Or should she teach her parents speak her language to have a little talk?
My nails have glitter but I cannot see them shine.
My skin is beautifully pale and soft - A gift from gradma; not only that, my parents say; I always wonder what they mean. - but today it has a shade of sorrow: could not see its beauty cause of a stronger reflection of sad eyes.
My lips look so strict and cold and not everyone finds the bravery to breach the illusion - though the reflection portrays a life with a promise of a vibrant ruby...
A promise?
A life?
But. Tears give them color.
--
I mean it.
I feel it.
I have just never been taught to say it.
