I Smiled at the Neighbour and Felt Dead Behind It

Dear Delyara, She was perfectly kind. That made it worse somehow. A normal chat. Weather, bins, children, something about parking. My face did what it knows how to do. Pleasant, responsive, alive enough. And underneath it, I could feel how absent I really was. I think that’s one of the loneliest parts of adulthood. How often a woman can still perform “fine” in social daylight while privately feeling as if she has gone dim. By the time I got back inside, I was almost angry at my own smile. Not because it was false. Because it was convincing.