When Someone Asks Me

Today, someone asked me why I was so nice to people who weren't always so nice to me.

And for a moment, the answer ceased to be.

But then I got to thinking, and the answer was plain to see.

I thought about the girl who always pointed out the flaws in my appearance, but never had any imperfections in hers; and I began to wonder how her parents were doing since the divorce, and how fashion must've given her something better to focus on than their argumentative words.

I thought of the boy who responded to my smiles with silence, who was always responding to everyone with silence; and I began to wonder about the bruises you could only see if he rolled up his sleeve, and just knew exactly how much he must want to leave.

I thought of the girl who constantly had to one up me, who could never be wrong; and I began to wonder about her eight siblings all being raised by a single mom, and how the competition for her affection must make the nights long.

I thought of the boy who slured when he tried to respond to my greeting because he was always high; and I began to wonder about his little sister who died when we were still in primary school, and I knew that the smoke wasn't the only reason for the red in his eyes.

And then I thought of myself, and all the pictures on my shelf, and how fortunate was to lead the life that I do.

So when they finished asking me why, I just smiled and they looked a little confused. So I said,

"We all have seen people die, sat alone in a room to cry, heard news that made us heave a deep sigh, felt the need to live a lie...I'm sure all those people have their own reasons to be shy."

Then with a quick wave of my hand and a nod of my head, I simply turned around and said,

"Goodbye."