being the impossiblepublished: 2010-12-12
She was perfect. Fair skinned, rosy cheeked. She had learned to smile, to be nice, to be pretty, to be polite, to show interest, to help a friend in need.
But as she grew older, people no longer called her naive. They called her ignorant instead. She could hear them sneering at her. Their looks of contempt were stabs in the heart. She endured those blows with a pretty smile. Until everything she had learned trickled out of those wounds and left her empty.
She learned new skills. To think twice, to fight, to judge, to scorn, to place her own interests above anyone else’s. And as she grew even older, people no longer called her ignorant. They called her cynical instead. She could hear how they condemned her. Their looks of hatred were stabs in the heart. She threw a few punches back at them. Until she heard how lovely she used to be. In fact, she used to be perfect.