I know that look well. It sends shivers down my spine whenever I see it. It’s a sign of hurt, a sign that the pain you’ve felt has lasted so long that it no longer troubles you. But, it still does. It wraps itself around you to discomfort you. It transcends everything. You’re in a different state. Dystopia is where you are. You don’t even get so much as a postcard. You no longer know where they are. They’re in your head though, when you wanted them in your heart. Yes, it’s not the most lavish place, but you’ve tried your best to accommodate them. Welcoming them everyday with a periodical, but then night comes. The door is closed, not sure if the light is on or not. You fall asleep on a stairway to heaven that leads you to the nightmares of hell. Maybe they aren’t nightmares, just dreams of a certain someone. But is that them, or someone else? It has been so long that you have forgotten. You promised yourself, although a promise does not need to be promised. It could just be there. Something like the wind, which we cannot see but feel. I know that look. I know it well, because it’s the face I see in the mirror everyday. My own facade that has grown to become a part of me.