Billion eyes stare at you. They see your laughter, that perfect smile you've rehearsed since the start of things.
Hands wave frantically at you, heralding the glamour of your presence. But could it be worse? Alone, you fight the naked shadows of unhappiness. That bizarre touch of loneliness.
So, you see the world as through a window, on one side - happy, untroubled people. On the other side, there's just you. Stricken by a personal calamity.
No one knows you cry. No one knows you need someone to listen to the thousand screams inside your head. No one knows you're sick.
Your spirit is packed like shards of broken glass and shelved in a library of untold stories.
You sit in this hall of fame, alone.
The world thinks you have an ocean of warm hearts around, but it's just you on your path. Your phone buzzes with like notifications and followers but no one knows you lack all that they have.
You've become famous, but without friends.
And now, you pack yourself once more and store in those shelves of unheard whispers.