Why do I still see this curtain made out of smoke. It lingers there, as if the happiness I feel right now was not enough for the world. I see you like a blurry shadow at the end of the hall. You turn around and you leave. I breathe trying to scream and stop you but my lungs are full of smoke. You can't see me, the smoke it too thick. You can't hear me, the silence is deafening. And yet, I still smile to the curtain. I smile without you. The perfect façade. The never ending lie. I lie to you, to myself, to the world. I feel less sane everyday but somehow more alive. Less real but at the same time more myself. The contradictions are endless. But you are not here to hear them. You are just not here.