It’s always there, protecting us when we meet someone new, or talk to a friend, or when we do anything. But it just isn’t us. No one is on the outside who they are on the inside. The face we put on is a lie, beautifully crafted like a set of armor, keeping the real us from them, hiding our flaws with a glittering, cold exterior. But it can’t grow with us. Eventually we must choose to either discard it, or accept that we will never become anything more. Unfortunately, I fear the day I emerge from my armor, and blinded by my surroundings, stumble into the abyss my armor kept me from.