The Mask Wears a Shadow

The softest sound in the world can be a breaking heart. Some hearts crash or burn or get crushed—they make noise. My heart…there wasn’t even a whimper; there wasn’t a sound, none that I could hear, that anyone heard. It just broke, stopped, like a watch left unwound, left alone, forgotten. I don’t suppose it was worth very much anyway. You would think it would hurt—I’ve been waiting—you want it to hurt, to mean something. Pain would be a relief from this…

But a mask remains over the heartless wretch.
The mask remains; nothing beneath is left.