Hidden Away Behind The Moon

A Story by Sydney Dreama

A look in to the feelings of those who do not speak out when something is going wrong in their life.

They don't get it. they do not understand. They think because I do not speak about, it means I can't understand it. But I do. I get their every feeling. The joy and the pain of it all. So fresh in my mind, and heart that I can not breath.

These are the things that run through my head when I walk down the hall.When I feel their eyes on me in class. I think these things when they tell me their story. Sometimes they yell at me telling me I should share my life with them. But why? Why should I share with them my pain? though it is so much like theirs its not the same. its different. But I understand. I know what its like to lay in bed at night and fear the next day. to fear the next hour. wishing that you could stop everything and not being able to.

But my story is not one I care to share. how could it help anyone. its so simple when held next to theirs.

Their story so much apart of them, that it is like a dark tattoo running from their fingers to their back. My story, so well hidden from sight; is like a faded hairline scar easily hidden from plain site.

I do not think about my story until times like this. Times when she talks to me about it all. The times when she goes over my past. She beats it in to my brain.

As soon as he leaves the room she starts at it again. I do my best to listen, to block it all out. But its hard when she is telling you your own story. The one you have tried to hide from for so long. The one that you have worked so hard to forget.

She does not understand moving on. That I don't care what happened. I do not care about him. That I want nothing more than to forget. That it is just as hard on me as it is on her.

She has made her home in her heart. Feeling everything. And now she can not leave. For without the safety of those walls- of those feelings she is lost. She does not understand that I have made my life in my mind.That my mind is my home. That at night when I am sleeping I dream of my childhood. I dream of a world where the only pain I know is made up and that of story books. A world - a place in time were I have never been wronged.

I do not want people to know this about me. Because then they will see me as less. They will want me to change. " tell your story" they will push at me. But they don't really want hear what I have to say. They want a quick look inside. To know - to hear that they are right. Nothing more. They don't care about me. Not truly.

" Trust your heart" They will yell. " Stop pushing us and your feelings aways" They will cry. Then they will want the problem to go away when they stop caring about it. When they get bored with it.Or when I do not do as they want me to. When i do not live my life by their rules.Through all their listening they have never learned to stop thinking and just to feel.To let another person lean on them and not to push them down.

But how can they people of the sun people of the heart understand someone like me of the shadows. someone who hides away. who likes to watch without being seen. I don't want people to look at me. If they look to long they might just see what is hiding behind the smile.

Behind the mask that I wear there is a girl who is so much darker than they think.

This girl that looks so whole and pulled together, is truly a broken mess laying on the floor.

If you look far, if you look deep in to my eyes the pain is there. You can see my broken soul dancing in the shadows.

© 2013 Sydney Dreama

Author's Note

This is a very old piece that I did not spend much but I still wanted to share it anyway.
All reviews and comments and any form of feedback is happily welcomed.
Also feel free to ask questions.

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Reviews

DezChampion

I think this is so candid that it's ambiguously beautiful. I think there is a precious relatability about it that resonates well. More personally, I write a lot like this and, I don't know, I suppose I understand completely. Great work.