DIE FORM DES VERSÄUMTEN: Pretending I wasn’t sad

I said: I'm fine. I laughed at the right moments, raised my glass, asked questions. I was charming, unobtrusive, functional. No one asked. No one saw it. Only in the reflections of the window, when I looked away for a second, something flickered. Maybe a memory, maybe just fatigue. But I knew: if I ever stop pretending, I’ll cry. And never stop again.