That Girl

I know her well, as perhaps, do most of you.

She is the woman who frequents your dreams, the wife who shares your bed, the mother of your children's classmates, the next-door neighbor or merely the woman from whom you buy your groceries.

She is more than one, but does not encompass all.

To some; however, she is everything.

To the untrained eye she is happy and gay and fills the hearts of those who surround her with warmth and tenderness, ever seeking to please the needs of those who tell her they love her.

As a mother, she is nurturing and kind, even a bit overprotective of her progeny, as well as everyone else's.

As a wife, she is dutiful and affectionate, if not occasionally withdrawn and quiet.

In odd moments of reflection or distraction her thoughts wander to that other place, the place where her heart lingers and wonders what if.

In those instances of unvarnished repose the many masks she wears and the robes of convention are shed and a glimpse into the woman she actually is is revealed, if only for that brief snatch of time.

To the man who owns her heart, he may choose to reach out to her and draw her near or he may only decide to watch from the distance, if he cares to watch at all.

For her, the price for each moment spent in that repose is another splinter cast from her heart and despite the outward smiles, she is just one step closer to her abyss.

Not all is as it appears.