You speak as if I'm a paper doll. You define my facade with the point of your pen. You clothe me with such chromatic thoughts. You fold me to whatever form you prefer. And then you smile, to see such physique you have beautifully crafted with your words, with your thoughts.
And you see a curl from my lips, seemingly forming a smile. Yet, it is not what you perceive. I am not smiling back at you.
Perhaps, the day will come that I shall, when you perceive is other than my physique. When you have conceived that I am a soul, not just a PRETTY PAPER DOLL.
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