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I am the one who stopped explaining that she was the one

Can you see me?
It is hard to spot me in a crowd of a couple of people.
Can you find me among the shadows of the same color?

Look right where everyone passes through, and you’re almost here. Yes, I am the one who tries to leave unnoticed. Constantly in its bladder, carefully choosing the ones with blades that grow instead of nails. For a long time, I thought adjusting to regular people was the only way to feel average myself. But, I am one of those whose bubbles people don’t see because people don’t allow them anymore. Legs climbed too often on steep paths only to reach the top. And what is a top, if not just a blade? It can hurt you if you don’t stand on it properly, or if you stand on it for too long, at the very top. I am the one who stopped explaining that she was that, the one in the suit with the shirt, which after an hour of ironing, looks too crumpled to wear, the one with messy hair, who has given up trying to impress people a long time ago because there is such a thing as the wrong kind of attention. The one that blends in with the environment but is still recognizable by an experienced eye knowing what is seeing. Another sign that I can’t smother the signs that this is not my body is that my soul chose it, and honestly, I gave up trying.

I deviate, but by no means do I coincide with others, or so they say. I take it insolently and fiery, but only what it wants to belong. I’m warm inside, but not the finest, like embers that don’t shine, like a lone predator without the stereotypical appetite of a serial killer. I say things the way I see them. I share unconventional opinions expressed in an uncomfortably direct way. Cruelty, unknown to the well-known exaggeration that a kind word an iron door opens, but what is left behind when they close it? Here, look, I’m laughing. Well, sarcastically, it will always be stronger than me.

The virtual world itself provides a mask that lies nicely on my face, while I lie down, it gives me time to filter and outline what might otherwise be known as destructive thoughts. I am attracted to things that my soul has felt in a past life, and someone would say that I am the one with spirits as best friends. Yes, this is me. They are not quite skeletons in the closet, but you might guess what I mean.

I cannot shake off the shadow of a doubt that colors my life, like a blurred filter. Life has taught me that I can never be too sure of anything; there is hardly anything concrete and safe in this world where I have deliberately ended, to complete the unfinished. Stability has often proved to be a mere illusion. Step towards it and fall through an invisible compromise, heavily built, and you will see, souls never make compromises. This body can never teach me to get used to a foreign tenant in it – only the eyes know me.

My instinct is always to run towards the worst outcomes first, whether about people or life; the response to a fight or flight is a more intense factor than the acceptance factor that all will be fine. The safest places for me are the two climaxes: in the sanctuary of my corner, or on the move, traveling. It would be desirable if I were in my vehicle. I have to have control over something. I am pretty happy lying on my sofa, but I am most satisfied when I am on the move, out of bounds. I am the equal half of fiery sparkles and ice crystals, constantly pushing between yin and yang, a constant that has no balance of its own but is moving in a straight line.

My inner struggle suits me. It is pleasant; nearly comforting. I’m not sure what I would do without it or what my purpose would be. And, all we want is to have one. Mine is fighting passionately in my world, to be the one they won’t notice because they have to, and maybe to help others feel less lonely in the fight with their own. Let’s not forget if we find each other. Let’s reassemble, cut off, one by one, piece by piece.

Doubt and dilemma are, after all, my eternal shadow. If your trust in all that I am overcomes the same, maybe you still want to be my friend, my person, and perhaps I will believe it. And maybe, you will find me today, or in a couple of years, in a traffic jam, or on the road, in an ordinary, intentionally unattractive car, without any planned intentions, and maybe I’ll offer you a ride, and you might turn it down.

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