She was loved by all. Everyone wanted to be with her. She was vibrant in nature. Good company to be with. She never knew hurting others or so she thought. She wanted people to be happy. It made her happy. But making everyone happy is not possible. Only if she knew this. So the one’s she couldn’t make happy thought of her as biased. Maybe true. There were a few she absolutely loved to see happy. Her heart soared high in happiness when she saw them happy. So she tried more for them. But in process some were ignored, never intentionally. Though not on purpose, people were hurt. Hearts grew apart. Some of them. That’s when she felt it. The distance, the heartache. She felt it all. She didn’t know what went wrong. She could sense people drifting away. She tried stopping them only separating the already distant hearts. She was accused. She tried to explain, she failed. She tried to match up, she failed. Maybe trying too much was the problem. But she couldn’t help it. She never wanted this. It broke her. But there were those who still loved her. They supported her. She needed it. Seeing people who once loved her, who she loved, loathing her, blaming her wasn’t easy to live with. But then there were those who cared for her, genuinely. She needed them. She could survive seeing them happy. She would be the way she is, for them. She just existed, pretending to live. Pretending for those who loved her. Pretending to be happy. She thought it was easier, easier than admitting that she was sad. That would require reasons and explanations, leading to more heartache. No. Pretending to be happy is easy. Yet sometimes the pretence fades, revealing the real her. She cries. Sometimes its okay to let the tears flow, she feels. But she soon gets back to pretending. She hopes and wishes that maybe someday she’ll be so perfect at pretence that she might actually end up being happy.