Sometimes I feel my mask itching. It wants to come off, take some rest. It wants to breathe without me living through it. My face wants to feel the air. It wants to be seen for what it is without the mask. My eyes want to be seen in their real colour. Sometimes the mask comes off...just a little bit from the edges. Then they notice it. They notice the fraying corners. It feels their disdain. It sticks back on leaving its edges within my face. Sometimes it feels their love. It feels its own pride. My face cannot do without it then. Sometimes it feels their acceptance. It stays where it is. Yet with time, its begun to edge itself deeper. With every nod of acknowledgement and every sigh of disdain, it brings itself closer to my face. My face cannot breathe without it anymore.