She tripped with a thud on the floor, wondering whether she was losing the balance of her body or life. Unbothered of the pain, she embraced the ground as if it was her long lost mate. Reminiscing of the times she picked herself up after a fall, her heart quenched, for it knew that it wasn’t a mere fall but hervery essence that collapsed. She was shattered in a way that it was nearly impossible to put herself back. The death of her dignity danced on tunes which pierced her ears and then her grit. She knew she was not at war with demons but herself. A war which is the most vigorous one. The floor she had fondled as a friend was now turning into a foe, burning, instigating her to unwrap. She craved for peace while blazing in discord. Her heart bawled in anguish shushing the tunes death rolled on. Ditching the floor, she cuddled her weeping heart while settling on the bed. Startled by the confrontation of the mirror, she saw something she had never seen before. Her unfiltered, crude self. Imperfect. Asymmetrical. Raw. She perceived someone she had been camouflaging all this while with a mask of perfection. Someone who yearned for attention and love. She touched her reflection as if she was healing herself. Appealing for it to hold her, she gawked at it with guilt. The guilt of withdrawing from herself for the society. The guilt of wearing a mask. The guilt of not being herself. And in that moment, she resolved to rebuild herself with affection and care.