I begin to fall, and the only thing I can cling to is this one thing—my mask. I fear it, and sometimes I hate it, yet it is the only thing left within reach, the only thing that can offer me shelter. I am a sorrowful sight, cowering behind the mask that is meant to protect me from the world, and from myself, yet it isolates me from everything and traps me in my loneliness. For no one can see that—or who—I truly am, as long as I hide behind it.
The third of four images in the story “Masquerade.”
