Are you there? I hope you too own a mask as white as your lie, which lay eerily smiling on your blank face. Tell me, that your face is also polished like it was carved with a ring of a tree grown in the musty mountain. That you have thousand other mask with fury, concern, thrill and the other measly emotions painted on it. Only so you can wear each mask when the time demands. Agree that you are scared of the void inside. That it eats you up and calls you a monster. For they feel it, while you paint it. That sometimes, only sometimes, the mask seems to melt with your skin. Only then you feel human enough. Like you are not the faceless ghost reviving in nightmares. Tell me, that you too are a wooden marionette like those in the scary story, living every hour of your life acting human. Perfecting every nook and cranny of those mask in hope that one starry night, it shall truly be yours.