Parallel Worlds

I walk through a crowded street. I feel lonely. Shopping or meeting friends hasn’t worked in ages.
I search my memory in vain for a happy moment. The joyful expression on a passing woman’s face brings tears to my eyes. She seems familiar. She’s smiling and glowing with happiness. In one hand, she holds a small bouquet; in the other, the hand of a man who is neither handsome nor appears to be wealthy.

Where did it go wrong? I wasn’t born into a world full of people to be alone. I shake my head and turn toward our villa. Bags full of new clothes are thrown onto the floor as I rush to the bedroom.
Where are they? I rummage through the wardrobe.

I stand in front of the mirror and hold up a child’s princess dress to my body. I glance around the room.

I have everything I wished for as a child: a castle, gowns, pearls, expensive fragrances, and a prince who showers me with wealth. So why do I feel like... a stranger? In the city, the house, and the marriage.
I lie on the bed, curling into a ball. Sadness stretches out beside me and strokes my hair. We know each other; it spends long evenings with me in this desolate bedroom.
“Don’t cry, doll,” it whispers.
“Stop calling me doll! You’re just like him!” I scream.
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I rush down the street. I won’t make it; I’m afraid of his anger. Pleas haven’t worked in a long time. I search my memory in vain for a happy moment. For a second, my gaze meets that of a passerby. She seems familiar. Her hands are full of bags of designer clothing. I’d love that. Where was my head? I shake it.

Where did it go wrong? I don’t want to live in constant fear! Subconsciously, I turn to check if he’s following me and run toward our house. Bags full of groceries fall to the floor as I dash to the bedroom.
Where are they? I rummage through the closet.

I stand in front of the mirror and hold up a child’s princess dress to my body. My gaze catches the wedding photo above the bed.

I have everything I wished for as a child: a knight who would rescue me from the dragon’s claws. He’d shield me and fight off danger with his sword. So why do I feel like... a stranger? In the city, the house, and the marriage.

I lie on the bed, curling into a ball. Fear sits beside me, tugging at my hair. We know each other; it spends long evenings with me in this desolate bedroom.
“Stop crying,” it shouts.
“I’m already quiet,” I whisper.
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We’re walking together. He’s holding my hand. At last, I feel like I’m not a stranger in this world. The thread of my thoughts breaks for a moment as I notice a passerby. She seems familiar. Maybe she’s sad because no one can help her with those bags, I think, turning toward our apartment.
I place the bouquet in a vase and dash to the bedroom.
Where are they? I rummage through the closet.

I stand in front of the mirror and hold up a child’s princess dress to my body.

I have everything I wished for as a child: to run down the castle stairs into the garden. It smelled of rosemary and crayons. He was always there. The boy who helped the old gardener. A real friend.
I step onto the balcony and breathe in the scent of rosemary perfume. He approaches and hugs me.
“How do you feel?” he smiles.
“Like a crayon,” I reply.