The beginning

She sat on her bed, one foot under her butt, just thinking in the shadows of the room. The sun was gradually sliding down the sky, sometimes hiding behind the wispy gray clouds, sometimes shooting friendly beams of warmth across her pensive face. It seemed like there was no one to talk to, no one to have fun with, no one to eat or drink with—no one to love. Every day she got up, went through the daily rituals of cleansing, eating, going to school. Everyone smiled, a few stared, many just walked on by. The other students in her class greeted her, but no one bothered to ask why she looked so tired every day. No one rushed to sit by her. A few kind students made efforts to include her in the conversations, but they didn’t know her, didn’t know that she wasn’t interested in their silly gossip, that she didn’t want to participate. This was normal, it was her life. Sometimes she took the chance, reached out, tried to fit in with the mindless chatter, tried to pretend that the pointless activities had some profound meaning, but eventually she always cracked her mask, couldn’t keep acting like she cared, and ended up alone. Again. Just sitting and thinking, pondering, wishing for a friend. The rare times when she couldn’t deal with it anymore, her heart overloaded with loneliness and longing, she poured it all into her music, her writing, her art, tears flowing down, which she tried to hide from the world. She knew she was silly, and yet she couldn’t escape the feelings that always dragged her down. To her, it was real, and something she couldn’t just walk away from. She concealed her feelings from those she knew to love her, except in moments of weakness, because, however well-intentioned they were, they never ended up really listening. Instead, they ended up talking about their own lives, or butting in with advice, thinking feelings are a simple math problem that can be solved with the right equation.