A Mask of Indifference
Her eyes betray nothing, yet within her mind swirls a maelstrom of emotions. She sat alone on the bench with her strangely white face. A passerby would be hard pressed to discern whether she finds amusement in the sights around her or is lost in deep contemplation. Her expression hovers in an ambiguous state, undefined and indecisive.
She has long grown accustomed to this detachment from her true feelings. At a young age, she learned to hide her emotions, to keep them bottled up within. Now, even when alone, her face defaults to an empty mask. She sometimes cannot recall the last time she truly laughed or smiled from the heart.
The woman watches people move by on the street, each absorbed in their own purpose and destination. Part of her wishes she could join their flow and certainty of direction. But she remains tethered to the bench, suspended between possibilities. Thoughts flit through her mind, fleeting and inconclusive. Happiness, sadness, wonder - all within reach, yet somehow intangible.
A shadow falls across her face. A man smiles down at her inquisitively, asking if the seat next to her is taken. She opened her mouth to answer him but it was useless because she realized she didn't know how to do it. She remains silent, gazing blankly at the stranger. His smile disappeared as he continued walking surprised by his indecipherable expression.
The woman sighs and shifts her attention back to the passing panorama. Months, years have slipped by in this suspended state, detached from those around her. She sometimes wonders if the day will come when the maelstrom within will finally settle, allowing her true self to emerge. When she will rise from the bench, walk forth with purpose and meet another's gaze openly, her emotion - whatever it may be - undisguised upon her face.
For now, though, she lingers. A silhouette against the backdrop of lives lived fully. A woman whose status is unknown: if she is happy, thoughtful or laughing.g. Or perhaps all three at once, if she could only find a way to know for sure. With a shrug, she returns her gaze to the street before her. The crowds flow on, oblivious.
She watches and waits, a mystery now only to herself.
Who will be this woman with an made-up syndrome?
