In solitude, the guard is left outside. you let your heart be ripped out, remind, write it down for emphasis, and while the ebbing hurt resides, sew it up with a rough string. Remind and regret, no more repeats.


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She smiled at the impertinent promoter. Slight tightening of the eyes, a few more lines surfaced. "I still have monthly income, it's more than what you require" "madam you need to have constant income" "I do, it's more than what you need" "we require our customers to have a steady income from a paid job for this card" and though the smile never left her face, a battle is being fought and steadily lost with every protest from the disagreeable girl peddling her wares. Every 'no' was a blow against pride and standing. The smile stayed, but is that all that's left of a life's work? 18 years, now a pensioner and stripped of rights to procure a card? So what if it's only a card?

Is that all that's left to take credit for? Not even eligible for a discount card?

There I stood, taking it in. I left my pity inside me, for the battle was not to be seen. It's a humiliation only for one self. But there's a rush of absolute pity and wanting to cover her from the apologetic promoter denying her. With a tightening resolution to not have to be in that selfsame place - Defending my position in society.