Standing inside the glossy windows.
Staring out to the busy walkway.
Businessmen on their Nokias, chatting away.
Students on their iPods, singing away.
Tourist on their half-empty wallets, shopping away.
But this is merely their skin.
We don't see the face of the businessman slapped and dragged against the sidewalk by his greasy employer.
We don't see the scarred wrist of the student as she receives a break-up text for the 15th time.
We don't see the fragile heart of the tourist sat on by the kilo-tons of pressure placed by a mere phrase from his wife's whirlpool mouth.
And we wonder what else is hidden,
in the little versions of a Pandora's box - our hearts.
A little tear grows in my eye, as i slowly open the heavy lids of the boxes.
Girlfriends.
Boyfriends.
Backstabs.
Employer.
Teachers.
Pressure.
Enemies.
Parents.
Friends.
Money.
School.
Work.
You.
Me.
Yet they are all camouflaged with a smile and a laugh,
a giggle and a grin.
But deep down,
their boxes rust from the very tears they shed.
I'm standing here,
with a heavy load in my box,
too.
For me,
it is encrypted with a programme of forgetfulness.
Only after serious hacking,
will i find it.
Is that a programme?
Or is that a mere virus derived from the load itself?
Virus or not, i'm glad i don't feel the same way as them.
To
cry.
sob.
fear.
hurt.
shout.
scream.
destroy.
flashback.
reminisce.
remember.
Like it is a daily routine.
Is that acceptable?
I think
not.
But if all the world feels like them,
wouldn't abnormality,
be the norm?
So,
wouldn't i,
be insane?
