To be named

This is the summer of 2015.

Today I have a revelation. Part of my soul had risen above. Since then, I have flipped the pages, closed the book, never finishing it. It was a subconscious act and all this while, I thought I was so strong. I was hanging on that last piece of thread. Alas, it was fictional reality.

He did me a favour despite everything. He tied up everything, just what I needed, with a bow. Even though it wasn't the color I preferred. And I was compelled with delightful sorrow and relief.

For some time, I had a monologue in my head. It was like a narrator in my own voice. It calmed me in a weird way no one else could.

I have never found myself on the ends of a stick. I was partly this, somewhat that. I was a little this, and not enough of that. I was like a series of unfinished business.

The longer I dug, I realised everyone was deeper within.

It was pathetic. I've never seen anyone forcing love to drown a tangled mess of subpar emotions. You do not use love, it uses you.

I have a odd habit of speaking to strangers. The woman who ate alone at the fast food joint. The postal delivery guy. The man in the five-dollar store. I felt so comfortable to be layered by a sense of anonymity.

I have always been known, gossiped, talked about. I was always the bull's eye. I tried so hard to be perfect but I was chasing clouds, trying to keep them in a jar. It was impossible.