You say she is okay because she has the life you desire and yours is as miserable as fuck.
But you fail to see the truth behind the walls she puts up to shield her self from her cruel reality, high enough so no one, not even she, could penetrate through.
She masks her face with a plastic smile, wallows in apathetic laughter and puts on too much makeup to cover those bags.
Unearth it all, look beyond and maybe, just maybe, you would notice that there is a certain sadness in those tired, brown eyes. Something you would only see when you try to look closely.