How could they know?

Just something I started thinking about, and it kinda snowballed after that, getting alot deeper than I had planned...

Hi.

 

My name is Christine.

 

I am a girl, brown-ish red hair, hazel-brown eyes, but if you've seen me, you'd know that.  

 

I like to act and sing, but if you know me, you'd know that.

 

People say I'm a smart person, because I have good grades.

Boy, are they wrong.

 

Maybe those same people think I have a grip on life.

They're wrong on that too.

 

Because the things no one really know about me can't be seen; if they even bothered to get to know me, maybe they would know these things.

But no one does.

 

You see, I'm a complicated person.

 

I like to make things difficult for others, because I get a kick out of it.

Maybe this is one of those times.

 

If people don't bother to care, why should I share my inner termoil with them, why should I share my true self?

 

I guess that's my logic.

 

Sure, there are a few who know alot about me.

(I call those people best friends)

But they really don't even know the half of it.

 

They probably know that I'm a procrastinator, from the countless times I've been sleep deprived before a big assignment is due.

They probably know that I'm a good listener, from the countless hours I've spent listening to their problems, and trying to help solve them.

They probably even know that I'm a hard person to get along with, from the countless fights I've picked with them.

 

But that's really all surface things.

My deeper self is in here, somewhere, but do they even bother to look?

 

How can they know that everytime I see them, happy with their boyfriends, I get insanely jealous, because I want to be happy too?

How can they know that I'm a leader, but all I really want to do is follow someone else?

How can they know that I try to fix every little problem in my life, and in other's lives, but am never satisfied when I'm finished?

How can they know that whenever I do something wrong, I dwell over it for the next week?

 

They can't know, because they don't bother to ask.

Because to them, all I'm here for is to listen.

All I'm here for is to be there when one of them gets hurt.

All I'm here for is to fix their problems.

 

Its never reciprical.

Why would it be?

 

Because how could they know that I refuse to cry in public, or that I keep all of my issues bottled up until I explode.

How could they know that I can't let anybody in, because I'm afraid of what will happen if I do?

 

How could they possibly know?

Author's Note

Does this seem unfinished? And what feelings did this evoke for you? Review please...

Reviews

[annandale34]

I could really see her at the beginning - gets to her very sharply and great use of repetition, really tight. Later on I was less sure eg what age she was? And found it less easy to sympathise with her as her thoughts got more complicated and resentful? Maybe unfinished in the sense that less is more - but I also need to know more about why she is so cut-off? Still it's always good when a reader wants to know more!
But still very evocative - worth taking further?