Imitation

It may seem absurd that of all things she could be doing― laughing with her friends, reading, playing with her dog, or simply being anywhere else― she stayed locked up in her room― while the sun slowly shifted from one window to the next, while the noise of the morning hours faded to those of the afternoon, to night, then to nothing― the birds sang, the children played, and the owl hooted, all the while she remained in her room. But the comforts of her room were never ending; there was no question about who would walk in; therefore, there was no question about which mask she’d have to put on, which shade of herself she’d have to imitate for that day, as if she were a chameleon in a haphazard environment. This abiding comfortability is why she stayed secured in her room. It was as if she couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing those who came within her path, so she eliminated that path altogether. All other places were unknown to her, she didn’t want to think of them, for then she’d be reminded of all that she wasn’t doing. Her glass box was forever sealed and locked― revealing all, but allowing no escape. 

“Which mask she’d have to put on, which shade of herself she’d have to imitate for that day.”

It might be too―her responsibilities completely vanishing when she stepped into that box, as if the walls were a dam and her burdens were the quickly moving stream, ready to take her feet out from beneath her, the moment she stepped out of the protections of her beautiful box― it might be that her room was the shield that kept her defended from the outside world. These feelings of despondency and apprehension, recognized in all minds but dismissed in all ways, were the reasons for why she stayed inside her bedroom. When she left that room, the tempter of souls forced her to subdue those feelings, along with the rest of the world who also suppressed theirs, only to be condemned for doing so.  The world outside that room was a never ending game, that which allows no winner. What she convinced herself― what she eventually concluded in her mind, as to why she sat locked within that room― was, actually, not a reason, rather, a lie to make herself feel better. Finally, she’s persuaded herself that, perchance, she’s not in her room to hide from the world that’s so often carelessly thrown at her; she just simply overslept.