Who Am I?

The tension: There is nothing good in you, you must not dwell on self ---- Share who you are because you're beautifully and wondrously made. 

She leaned back in her chair, assuming the defensive emotional pose that came all too familiarly. He was trying to peg her into a hole which she did not like. On reflection later, she thought perhaps his intent was to include her in the conversation, groups of people drove her to quiet observation, but his manner of doing so irked her.

She flippantly denied his confident statement. "That's not my real name," was her equally confident reply. In a moment's irrational thought, she stated the truth, realizing only too late that now they knew one more thing about her. They had another weapon in their arsenal they could use to attempt entry into a very closed persona. She stuffed another spoonful of potato soup in her mouth and determined not to say another word.

Head bent, she tried to breath against the tears that demanded to be let loose. Another goodbye was imminent; she didn't handle those too well. Oh, she'd learned as a young child that it was necessary to smile, blithely wave them on to their new life, give a cursory nod to the friendship that had formed strong in time, yet now, as an adult, goodbyes seemed to increasingly tear at the fabric of a fraying heart.

Perhaps this was why she still searched. . .even as the bricks went up a level higher.