I watch those around me make clever comments and small talk. I slowly close my eyes, smile, and try to pick out individual voices from the roar of the crowd. I hear future plans and stories of the day. I hear the laughter and frustration in their voices. I smile as I visualize the moments they describe.
I open my eyes and look into the faces of those around me. I see joy and pain. I see sorrow and salvation. Some hide behind clever comments, while others hide behind outrageous stories. The people I care about have many ways to hide themselves in this masquerade.
I walk around the ballroom, hidden in a mask of my own. I drift from conversation to conversation, dancing around the salt and pepper shakers. I listen to small portions, glancing too few facts to know what they talk about. I glean my impressions from the tones of their voices, the forced joy they try to pass. They act as if their problems vanish when they enter the room, but they were their problems on their faces. Masks so intricately carved. Masks created from the most precious materials on the planet. Masks made to last forever.
As I slide between the plates and forks, I reach the band and listen to the song playing in the air. I hear a melody slowly cascading throughout the room, matching the emotions and masks the revelers wear. I slowly move to the center of the room, politely excusing myself as I bump into glasses and napkins. I reach the center and begin a solemn dance. I remove my mask, to the shock and awe of those present. As I dance, I look around and notice, for the first time, imperfections. The masks which seemed so flawless and stunning are cracked and faded. Crumbling into dust before my eyes, I shyly smile and return to my dinner.
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