The Silence I Offer

When asked, "How are you doing?"
I just manage a smile.
"All's well," I might murmur,
And deflect for a while.
I shy from the questions,
Preferring silence instead.
What could I truly explain,
With this layered past, restrained?

If ever someone truly wish to know,
To look beyond my quiet gaze,
I'd have to reach down, deep below,
Into my past's intricate maze.
My story's not a single thread,
But countless moments, deeply entwined.
A life lived, and lessons long-fed,
Leaving so much of me behind.

To speak of myself, truly,
Would mean unearthing old pain,
Flipping through chapters long closed,
To live through that history again.
My life's a long novel, you see,
With pages I cannot re-read.
For the essence of who I've become,
Is rooted in every past deed.