She puts herself out there, on occasion. Albeit cerebrally, and pseudo anonymously. With each third person word she writes, she exposes more and more of herself to the atmosphere, however hostile it may be. Subject to the stares, to the potential ridicule of others...all while keeping that deepest, inner core under wraps, tied tightly with the shiniest of satin ribbons.
And she leaves bits of herself hanging for a time, taking the occasional arrow intended to pierce the satin ribbon 'round that inner core. Yet somehow, the arrows never quite slide through the random cracks in the armour surrounding the ribbon. But when one comes too close, or she has put herself out there a bit further than she intended, self-preservation engages and she retreats.
The revelations are typically followed by fluff and filler. Nonsense, trite and simple. The deeper the revelation, the more inane -- bordering on insulting -- is what follows. Fodder for the masses, designed as a sleight of hand, like the proverbial magician. Nothing up her sleeve. Nothing at all. The nonsense proves that. Changes her back into the unnoticeable. The unnoticed. Unworthy of watching.
Once in a great while, she puts a little too much of herself out there, an unmoving target for whomever might be left to read. And then, swiftly, an arrow flies, hard, fast, deadly. And pricks the satin ribbon ever so slightly. And then she pulls herself back, back into herself, doubled over at the waist, hands around opposite arms in that age-old self-preservation gesture. Hide your heart, girl, Eli's coming.
And that is when she goes into hiding, hibernating, even sometimes -- if the piercing was quite deep -- pulling all evidence of her previous inner revelations in with her, leaving nary a crumb to sate others' appetites or encourage their baser impulses to attack when she is at her weakest.
Yet even in the sad, pathetic merry-go-round, there is this. That each time she hangs herself out to dry, she hangs a little further...a little further...a little further. Exposes her inner core, a millimeter more each time. Not exactly worthy of a big brass band or a heroes' parade, as she knows, as everyone knows...but there is that millimeter. Each time. There is that.
Nights in White Satin...