You would stand at the end of the playground, poised and graceful in your long brown coat.
“How are you?” one of us would ask.
“Fine thanks, how are you?”
But you were never fine, were you?
I’d see you often. We’d greet each other the same way each time.
I hoped that one day we would have time to move on from “fine.” That I’d get to know the person behind the friendly smile.
I had no idea that you were battling a demon.
You would always offer a smile; an illusion in a long brown coat.
But now you're gone.