And her eyes stung with the intense will to cry.
But tears did not fall. Instead they were restrained behind the floodgates of lower lids.
Precariously poised between oculus and the precipice of no return.
This dam left crescent shaped pools at a standstill, that gently teased the threshold on the brink of spilling over, struggling for release.
Pressure built, anticipating release at any given moment.
Waiting to let go and be set free but never given the chance.
A sharp breath drawn, poise and posture reset, the bravest face you ever did see and a false smile.
A smile masking the melancholia, but a smile nonetheless.
margaret belle
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