Unknowingly

On good days, he’d get up out of bed and act as if the pain didn’t bother him at all. He’d pretend that his mind wasn’t filled with agonizingly bittersweet memories and he’d pretend his emotions weren’t persistently manipulating him. He’d act like a robot, aloof and empty. He’d put up a brave face. A mask. A shield. The only problem was that he wasn’t certain how long his heart would keep up with such emotional stress. (Did his heart already die?) Even so, he’d throw on his plain clothes and his artificial smile (just in case they ask) and he’d head out the door to reluctantly face the day.

On bad days, he’d get out of bed and break down crying right then and there. The tears would seem neverending and so overwhelming that he’d have that occasional desire to rip his eyes out. His whole body would tremble. His cries would pester his ears. He’d run his hands through his hair and grip it tight whenever another scream escaped his mouth. After expressing his sorrow, he’d stay put on the floor and stay there until the next morning when the sunlight would attempt to comfort him.

But today was a good day. And today, he’d get out of bed and act as if the pain didn’t bother him at all.