Said she knows she lived through it, to get to this moment. Though, to be honest, it seems like that was a lie. A blank white lie to get through this life. She isn’t wrong though, life sucks. It just keeps throwing rocks at you, expecting you to catch them mid air and keep going. But that isn’t how it works. Sophia knew that. She knew it, but did not want to admit it. The same goes with her parents. She knows her dad is hitting her mom, but doesn’t want to admit she sees the grape stained bruise slowly forming around her moms eye. She knows her dad drinks excessively, but doesn’t want to admit she hears him angrily throw an empty bottle across the room every time the Bruins lose a game or get a foul. Every sense of hers is engulfed with this issue. This talk of a perfect life. How you have to say you have really been through something for people to believe it before they can see it with their own eyes. As if their eyes are sewn shut with the promise of a better life, the sweet, honey-like, thread smoothes the burden of the truth. That life is hard. That every moment will seem like a lost cause, but you don’t have a choice to stop. You have to keep going. To keep walking the relative treadmill. Only, that is, when the thread is pulled out from the depths of your consciousness by words. Simple letters that form a phrase of remembrance. And reality is there for the taking. At a grasp, yet, most run away. To run from the truth? To run from the world? To run from this life? This question is yet to be answered. After all, what is truth, when it collides with a torn life? What then, becomes of the world? A white lie, covered in the crisp and sharp flakes of purity. A goal no one ever sets for themselves.