I am that playful chinko. Always cheerful. Smiling. Laughing. Creating BEAUTIFUL CHAOS. The parrot. The arguing type. No backing out. The popular jingo. The life adviser. The relationship counsellor.

Behind closed doors is another version. A different one. Unimaginably so.

The one who cries silently so no one hears. The one with scattered, swirling emotions. Thoughts clashing. Responsibilities flashing. The cracks in the armour of the 'STRONG' girl. A facade it is, duh.

Streaks of tears flowing like some broken water fountain. Wiping them off. Dripping nostrils. Shaky shoulders. Shoulders that stood like rocks for THEM. Clenched fists. Hands that were a source of comfort to THEM. A cracked voice. Swollen, reddened eyeballs.

Beautiful songs that once made you smile now hit like taunts.

Sometimes, I think of my diary, and I spill everything I feel, everything that has happened. A confession of sorts.

And of all the sentences, one stands out:

"I AM TIRED."

I really am.

If only I could get just a little pat while I cry, without having to hide. A voice that whispers, "All will be okay." Someone to tell me, "You are not in this alone."

Not with that kind of PITY look.

Just the kind that says, "I understand, even if I am not in your place."

Maybe I wouldn't hurt this much. Maybe I would be able to stomach anything without breaking. Maybe my heart would feel a little better.

Whatever. Whichever.

I don't know what to say anymore.