My one recourse to the safety of my identity, untouched by foreign perceptions, remains no more in my stead alone – writing.
Then again, it’s just self-preservation. No one likes to be remolded; to be cast in a different light, stripped of all known traits, of everything held dear.
Alone, vulnerable. Afraid. Anxious and yet hopeful. Faith and suspicion lie in juxtaposition and the dance of life is as erratic as ever. Amidst the uncertainty, I stand facing misgivings and presumptions.
But the fire of vindication remains burning. The raging inferno is all one sees, not the shrivelling soul at the very source of it, fuelling those hated flames.
And the cries go unheeded, for it is one sound amongst the cacophony of a thousand wailing hearts; a dissonant chord so banal, one has forgotten how blissful silence can be.
You and I…we’re no different, are we?
Except, perhaps, distinguished by the palpable reserve we maintain, the aloof demeanour allowing us to coolly brush off unwanted advances…the walls, the stringent fortification, the false lull of security.
I marvel at how we have managed to breathe amidst such emotional asphyxiation.
So, what would it be?
A perilous willingness to uncover the carefully placed veils of antipathy, or resigned acceptance to the delusion of forced detachment?
You…could choose either, notwithstanding how I will still be able to look through you, your pretenses.
I return, to seek the solace of my expression, only to find your undeciphered gaze haunting me, setting my heart aflutter and trepidation coursing through my entire being.
Your voice echoes within the confines of my mind, your presence acutely felt and sought.
Therefore, in lieu of rediscovering the sense of identity I may have lost, I find you to be my looking-glass.
Who am I to you? Who would I be… if you weren’t there?
Heed my call or forever hold your breath. For I know, as certainly as I could ever know…
…that you seek me as much as I seek you.