Her smile is genuine. She believes she is happy. People believe she is happy. She is, in fact, happy.

Yet at night, every once in a while, she feels the tightness of her skin. She tastes the salt of her eyes. She can feel the breath that hitches in her chest, and can hear it to.

The world around her is oblivious. She longs for someone to know, but would hate for them to see. It is a battle, one that tonight her eyes had lost. It seems her body refused to believe any longer.

So, every once in a while, she will sit up in the night and wipe the black from her cheeks and smile to herself in the mirror, "What have you got to cry for?" She does not know what she has to cry for, of course until the next dark, lonely night.

While she does not know it, or rather refuses to believe it, she is both happy and sad. Her smile is genuine, but it is not truthful.

And no one is to know.