I get restless.
I always do, when I come here.
I forget who I am, what I like, what I carefully built along the years. My idiosyncrasies, my personality traits, my odd but remarkable history. All irrelevant, like they belong to someone else. Someone I’m not interested in.
I can get no satisfaction.
Instead, I become who I used to be. An insecure, ugly little girl, desperate to please, to be noticed, to be one of them. Obsessed with everything that doesn’t matter, that is not important to anyone but still rules everyone’s lives. Everything that made me run away, until I found a place where I could be myself in peace.
Somewhere I could be proud. Of myself.
Like that saying ,“It’s never too late to become who you really are,” or something along those lines. I travelled far, mastered the languages, the crowds, the overwhelming rhythm. I proved not to anyone, but to myself, that I AM strong and smart and beautiful and endlessly interesting.
But I’m nothing here. In the smallest of universes, I feel like a curious creature, an oddball, no more. Something to be looked at from afar, to be distanced from.
I cheated myself
Like I knew I would
I told you I was trouble
You know that I’m no good.
I was weak, and selfish, and silly. I wake up 6 o’clock in the morning, breathe hard, walk from room to room, read the same paragraphs over and over, check obsessively the same websites. Can’t stop thinking.
This time, I was careful enough not to share the details with anyone. I don’t want anyone but the mirror to see the shameful restlessness in my eyes.
All I need is a glimpse of reciprocity. A spontaneous evidence of the same. Then maybe, I could go back to sleep.