Smile, breathe, act naturally. She has always been that girl to carry herself so elegantly, so magnificently poised; not with arrogance or pride, but with an air of distinguished beauty. She tries so hard to persuade people into thinking that she’s absolutely fine and how she’s completely over it, him, but there’s been a slight problem to that. It’s been working flawlessly, yes, for everybody and anybody… But she was horrifically unsatisfied with how she’s been failing miserably to try to deceive her own self. She swears that she’s been gradually getting better about this whole mess of a situation, but deep down, she knows all too well that that’s not true. And this is precisely the reason why she’s been having such a troubled and bothered soul, gnawing at the core of her curiosity; this silly confusion and single question: why?

Highlight, delete, confirm action. It was blatantly sitting there on her computer desktop which had a newly added, ebony background. It was mocking her and laughing defiantly, in efforts to make her feel more insignificant about herself. It was the familiar, light brown folder that held an innumerable amount of memories from the course of the previous months. Her trembling index finger reluctantly hesitated and lingered over the ‘ok’ button, the confirmation to get rid of all this pain, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. No matter what, she couldn’t bring herself to delete these memories so easily, no, she didn’t want to. So she painstakingly glanced at the folder that had once made her excruciatingly happy, dragged it to another folder named ‘Prohibited’, and locked it away. She securely sealed it away and shut it with a password that nobody would ever guess, and it seemed to be mirroring her own mentality. She would always find herself suppressing her cluttered emotions and thoughts, stuffing them into a mental drawer, attempting to bury the hurt.

Why did she do it? Who knows? But it was inevitable that she was going to find herself stupidly entering ‘093010’ as the password, into the folder, into the memories that she wanted to erase. In a matter of months, she would be reopening that damn folder, breaking her heart all over again. While she knew that her life was precisely and specifically based on a routine, she also knew that this whole process was backing up her entire system. To describe herself in the simplest of terms: she was a zombie, a robot. She repeatedly swore to herself that she was fine. She promised herself this because she knew that this was the only way to keep her sane and safe from the dangerous possibility that this mental drawer of thoughts could implode and wreck havoc on all of her bodily functions, even though she already knew that she was breaking those promises… All of these futile efforts just wasn’t enough, she was eternally stuck.