Half Moons

Her sparkly brown Emma Watson eyes transform into half moons as her face lifts into another freckles-and-nose-crinkling smile.


I wasn't expecting this. 


Not the half moons or the ready smile, but the secret behind them.


Secret sorrow, 
Sparks our neural fibers,
Ashes penetrating the temporal lobe
Never fall deep enough to undo the memory of
Mental fire


Secret tallies of the invisible battle
Of shame and loss, trial and error
Intricately etched between each rib
A visceral reminder with each breath
If only In were not so intertwined with Out
Without.


I just didn't expect to learn her secret so matter-of-factly, so simply, it was so. . . different from the girl I had seen. The one who flicked her cascading brunette waves and had every male in the room quasi-hypnotized.

 I saw her pictures from the month it happened. The half moons were still there and if anything, she was glowing. It wasn't just her face, but her.  Her kind smile emanating from her innocent, open face.  I couldn't and still can't find any darkness about her.


I'm sorry?  That's the best I could do?

Nobody prepares you for the moment when someone says "My dad died of cancer a few months back."

"I'm sorry," that trite phrase, stale on my lips. A nervous sigh. Trying to muster the right amount of empathy in my eyes, without bordering on pity.  She must have seen and heard it a million times before.

And that's what humbled me.  No self pity, no gushing, no anger or annoyance.  A soft, sad smile and then a brighter one, moving forward.

Her eyes transforming from half moons to crescents.