Keep the Faith

You're crying.

You're crying and you can say that you don't know why, but you'd be lying.

Because you know all too well why.

You're crying for them, because of them; maybe it doesn't matter.

You're crying because you have to, because it's the only thing you can do.

Sometimes it just becomes all too much, too overwhelming, that when something finally topples you off the edge you can't help but break down, even if you hated it. Hated that, hated that you are reduced to a sobbing mess in a corner. Hated that you're showing that you're weak, that you are imperfect, that you're human, because you worked so hard to show them otherwise.

Because they called you hero, didn't they? You once said that heroes were ordinary men who made themselves extraordinary, and guess what? You've never thought that you might even qualify, much less in their eyes. It's gladdening to hear, even a bit flattering, and it was like that for a while; you were considered their savior, and you just continued doing what you've always done.

But then you stopped. You slipped up for a moment, but a moment is all it took for an angel to be demoted from heaven to earth, right-hand to castoff. They said you were an angel too, right? Your pale skin, the innocent curves of your face, the compassion that shone in your eyes. They took your pictures and drew wings to sprout from your back, perfect and feathery and whole. You were their hero, their angel, their light, and of course, you weren't supposed to have flaws.

But you did. You forgot, they forgot, that you're still human, after all. One of the perks to being human was being allowed to make mistakes, to be unreliable sometimes. But you weren't that anymore, were you? You were some marble statue set high on a pedestal, all pristine and glorious and white.

But were you real?

Underneath, you were, which showed when you fell and broke.

You broke into so many tiny little pieces.

They held the fragments of your heart, your soul, your mind, your hopes and dreams in their hands, and while some still treasured those slivers of you, others crushed them mercilessly between their fingers, watching all that was left of you crumble and become dust on the floor.

Too much of you was lost.

So you're crying.

It's the kind of cry that summons tears from your eyes with seemingly no effort, making them fall down your face in glistening streams, and you're not even aware of them until you taste salt on your tongue. The kind that makes your frame shake and tremor like a walking fractured earth, that leaves you heaving and gasping for breath from the sobs that escape your lips, trembling and sad. The kind that leaves your teeth numb and your eyes unfocused, your mind wandering aimlessly, wondering where you'd gone wrong.

But then you'll still smile, no matter how cracked you are in the face like a mannequin, a puppet used by a ventriloquist, with your songs gliding on your melodious voice and your cheekbones protruding with a fake flush. You're still smiling through your tears, and you do it day after day after day. But still, they don't see how brave you are, how strong you're being, and all they remember is that you let them down. No redemption except to rewind the changes, but time is cruel and impossible.

You're crying, little hero.

So why don't you show them?

Heroes have no fucking right to bleed.