She sometimes wanted to run away from her life, escape as if it was the final curtain fall. She would wave timidly her goodbyes and leave as quietly as she arrived. The fantasy was playing in her mind, especially when she was subjected to immense stress. Nothing was working the way it was supposed to be, no one was feeling the way they were supposed to feel and misery once again became their clingy companion. It became so unbearable, so much that ultimately, it had to come from her. This feeling of being responsible for everything wrong always followed her. A single change of the strategy Scott came up with would fall onto her shoulders, without anyone pointing fingers at her. Asma took the blame. Self-nurturing broken thoughts that kept festering like a demon inside of her head and prevented her from breathing. Who could understand how it felt? Who could know? Words sometimes were at the tip of her mouth but died at the back of her throat because she couldn't utter them. She couldn't name it. She simply experienced it.
She sometimes wanted to run away from her life, in the literal sense. Ending it would be the proper meaning. Ending it was the solution. This feeling of being a failure, a good-for-nothing and a waste of space and skin lingered at the back of her mind and for so many steps forward, she leaped miles and miles backward. Her confidence was shattered, her rational thinking was gone. It became her fault and she had to make herself pay for that. Her eyes would betray her, glowing dangerously brightly despite her body language is stiff and withdrawn. Her eyes would betray her, losing the warmth they were known to have a sharp violence that hit you in the guts. Asma couldn't hide very well, she couldn't hide at all. But she played her part, she pretended and smiled and it took someone who really knew her to notice the change and catch her hand before the final curtain fall. It took a round of applause from the public to drag her back onto the scene.
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