She nervously trailed away mid-sentence in a lowly whisper and a dejected expression because she could never hold the attention of her friends, and no one cared enough to know how her story ended. She thought they would be enthralled and not look away if she spoke more enthusiastically, but that trick did not work. She always felt encased in a glass box, and no one could hear what she said, no matter how loud she tried to be.
She shook off her feelings, flashed a smile (not that anyone even noticed her feeling sad), and listened to their ever-so-important stories. She just had to fit in, she reassured herself.
She remembered how she used to be as a child in such situations – throwing a tantrum and seeking attention – and chuckled at herself because of her transformation from an enigmatic persona to an invisible wallflower. Now, she is used to being cut off by everyone she hangs out with, and it does not bother her (that is what she says to herself). She holds on to her unfinished stories close to her heart, for they will never be heard by anyone or known by anyone except her and her diary.
World of Jeana 