I've always hated how winters in this plastic city never look or feel like real winters. At best the endless boulevards and avenues are emptied of fakes and wierdos by a sudden storm, washing away all dirt with its heavy scouring rain. But then, just a few minutes later, the California sun comes out again and the skies clear up as if nothing had happened. Everything goes back to what it just was, only shinier.
Inside, the storms are silent and the seasons never change. I walk around on glass, trying my best not to cast my shadow on the marble floors of our airy house. Regardless of the weather there's nowhere to hide, but on cloudy days at least I come closer to being invisible.
From time to time I forget why I'm so cautious, but whenever I run into mom I'm painfully reminded. It breaks my heart to see her trying, being nice and sweet to me, asking me how my day was, but the damage is already done and there's no coherent way of fixing it. Sometimes I wish I could tear off my mask and just hug her, but I know I'm lost for words and there's too much I too badly want to say to her. And I hate crying.
So I don't.
Today it's sunny but cool. Mother was just in the kitchen packing a bag so I asked her if she was leaving. From her reaction, the subtle sadness in her eyes, I could tell she thought it's what I wish for.