When do we let our façades fall away? Do we take them off at the end of the day? Or do we keep them on until they fuse? Become something we can no longer lose? Do we let them become one with skin and bone, something a part of us, no longer just shown? Do we keep them on ‘till the day we die? So no one will ever know they were just a lie? Like the girl who smiled brightly everyday, tugging long sleeves with long fingers to cover foul play, tossing careful reassurance every which way .‘Till the day her husband took her life away. If she’d have just spoken up, I wonder, would she still be buried six feet under? And what of the boy who kept a veneer, fake smiles and false laughs keeping others near? Happiness and cheer covering a breakdown and tear, ‘till his heart could take no more of his crippling fear. If he’d shown others himself, and not put on shows, would he still be here rather than in deadly repose? The acts we put on, the masks we create are not all they seem — nor nearly as great. Some live and learn, to peel off the fake, but most never do and have to live with the ache. The façades we put on are often more permanent than we think, staying stuck to our skin, becoming part of it before we can blink. Unable to come off no matter how hard we tried, no one sees what’s underneath our masks: all the faces we hide.

Written by Lily Cejka

Contributing Writer