Burnt, bruised, or battered, there's always that smile. It never reaches his eyes. But it's always there, hiding his pain. I know he hurts. I know he longs for something he can't admit, not even to himself. More than the constant fighting. More than just being the best.
Happiness. Joy. Peace. Love. Trust.
The smile buries those lost dreams, hides them behind a plastic cheer. Because if he doesn't smile, he has to face his dreams.
I want to slap it off his face and shake him. Shake him until those hidden dreams and hopes break free to rise to the surface. Dammit, doesn't he understand? I want him to be happy. Truly happy, not the pale imitation he puts up as a disguise.
But that smile cuts me off, keeping me from him.
So I serve him with cheer and a smile, every time he comes to me. I hide my own pain and longing, because I can't bear to let him know how much it hurts me to see that smile.
I watch him eat, hoping that today will be the day he stops smiling and knowing deep in my heart that it won't. I watch him at school, enduring the frustrations brought by his father and the life he's been saddled with.
And, suddenly, I understand. Despite the chaos and the crazy. Despite all the others. Despite his hidden sorrow and lonliness...
He always smiles for me.