Someday, It Will Come
A thick smoke screen hides a great many things. Eyes, mouths, expressions, faces. Everything that might give away what I feel to someone else. Everything that might let me read what someone else feels, too.
All I could hear were the voices.
“Blanca… why… why…?”
The voice of the one who believed in me.
“Why is it you, why are you…”
The voice of the one who envied me.
“What is all this…? What is this…? Why now…?”
The voice of the one I admired.
“Answer me…! Why did you do that!!”
The voice of the one I hated.
“Blan…ca…? No… right? There’s… a reason for this, isn’t there…?”
The voice of the one who wanted to resent me, but couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.
So I really did think, for the briefest moment, that this was a relief.
“…Playing friends was fun.”
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