Sometimes we write crap. But sometimes the crap needs to get out to filter the pain. This is one of those times.
Ask anyone, and they would say Josiah lived a good life. He had a loving family. His parents were divorced, but good people. His siblings adored him. He had loyal pets. His parents worked hard, and he received everything he could ever want.
Josiah liked to smile at people he didn’t know. He nodded and tried to make his eyes sparkle in that special way that he knew people found sincere. He loved deeply and spoke sincerely. He was even funny and witty in his own way, good enough to make people smile whenever he cracked a joke.
And no matter what, Josiah always made time to make people think they were special.
Ask anyone, and they would say Josiah was happy. Except his family. They would say he was too tired all the time. Or didn’t smile enough. Was too lazy to work hard. Didn’t ever put any effort into anything. Needed to get outside. Exercise. Enjoy the air. Enjoy life. Why didn’t he ever smile?
Ask anyone, and they would say Josiah was good. Kind. Caring. Bright.
Ask anyone, and they would say Josiah had a good life.
Ask anyone. Except Josiah. Because Josiah would say the truth.
Josiah’s family loved him, but he knew he would never be good enough for their standards. His parents were good people, but they didn’t care much about Josiah’s interests other than to criticize. His siblings adored him when it benefited them. He received every material thing he could ever want, but he didn’t much receive the approval he would always need.
Josiah smiled at the people he didn’t know because they were the only ones who liked his smile. His family always told him he never smiled, even as his lips were turned up, because he didn’t smile that smile they loved. And Josiah smiled sadly as he thought his family couldn’t even love his smile.
Josiah loved deeply and spoke sincerely, but no one knew because no one understood or listened. He loved so many people, but they all loved their own, and Josiah never really felt reciprocated.
Josiah was funny and witty because it was the one thing he knew that people would appreciate. A good laugh. A funny joke. A witty comeback. And all Josiah ever wanted was to be appreciated.
And Josiah made people feel special with his time because he knew what it was like for no one to have any. That was his life. This was his gift.
If anyone had asked, Josiah would say he would never be enough. And he accepted that as best he could. You couldn’t change your life. He had tried. Josiah thought he would always try.
Ask anyone, and they would say Josiah’s death made no sense. His mother screamed and his father actually cried and everyone who ever knew him just couldn’t understand it.
But that’s because they didn’t understand Josiah.
Because the truth of Josiah was always overlooked, like his smile, like his efforts.
And Josiah died as lonely and cold as he lived, veins empty of all the pain he had carried around with him every single day. Pain the color of scarlet, the smell of iron, and as thick and dark as the journals he kept stacked in his bookshelf.
Ask anyone, and they’d tell you they didn’t quite understand Josiah’s lies.
But ask Josiah, and he’d tell you he didn’t quite understand anyone’s version of the truth.
Dominique Zuniga 