"Judea, are you alright?",
Amelie, my youngest sister asks.
Her face filled with with
Actual, sincere concern
Filling her eyes and every gesture.

"I don't know. I'm just not
Feeling well, just leave me
Alone
For a while, ok?", I respond to her.
Judea, also known as me,
Her shoulders hunched
The pen still spinning under and over
Each spread finger
Her hair, thick, dense, and black
Tied into a failing knot
Each wispy strand frayed
At the ends, her head held down
Hands on the side of her heads.

"Judea, how come your always
Sad
And never happy?", Amelie
Asks once again, her voice
Anxious for an answer.

F.T.M.