I can't stop
Days blended together. Despair wrapped around me like a shroud. Was this my forever?
My mind echoed with the cycle's rhythmic chant: Wake up, put on the mask and play my part. Sleep, repeat. Existence had become a never-ending performance.
In class, I mechanically scribbled notes, pretending interest. Teachers spoke, students responded. A well-rehearsed ballet.
Lunchtime's cacophony assaulted my senses: forced laughter, artificial smiles and meaningless conversations. My role: blend in, avoid attention.
At home, foster parents' questions remained robotic: "How was school?" "Did you eat?" My responses: polished, vacant.
Even solitude offered no escape. Ceiling cracks became a morbid countdown, reminding me of failed attempts to break free.
HER memory lingered, her voice echoing in my mind, taunting me. What if I'd confessed my true feelings? Would she still be here?
The mask suffocated me, its weight crushing. I looked at the mirror, praying for whatever god is out there to tell me this is a fever dream.
No escape. No reprieve. The cycle had consumed me.