Probably we have never talked or met. I don’t know your story. I don’t know what you are up to. I don’t know what you do, or where you live, or anything else about you.
But I know, when night dawns upon the earth, you let out a heavy, tired sigh. You think you are all alone. Days are long, and you get through them somehow. It’s not like you don’t have friends, you do. But there’s a lot inside you that they have no idea about. You are all smiles throughout, and you don’t brush away the chances you get to socialize. You’re always in. But it tires you, doesn’t it? Being around people who know you, and yet somehow don’t. They know the pretty face of you: the smile and laugh and all that you show. The mask, yes, that’s all they know and they have no idea there’s more to you. But you know, it isn’t their fault. You don’t show it, because you think they won’t understand. Or because you feel it’s a super big deal, letting someone inside your little shell.
Your shell: where you are you and no one else exists. A place where you drift off at times during the day, zoning out of your life. Your happy place. And even though you are alone there, you don’t feel so. But being surrounded by people all day? Yes, that’s what loneliness feels like. You have already decided to struggle. One day at a time. To fight against-
You. You are whom you fight against. You are your greatest friend, and your worst enemy. You are what makes you happy and you are what deprives you of it. You are strange, you think. You don’t fit into this world, this world that never stops. You don’t talk about what you feel because you think it’ll make you feel it even more. So finally when the day is over, you sigh not because you didn’t have a good one, but because the struggle for today is done. There’s a new day tomorrow, new sunshine, new… A new struggle. It’s tiresome, it drains you out.
Nights are peaceful, aren’t they? The world slows down, quietens down, and you are your company. At times, you grieve and cry and let it out, but the others, when you yourself have no idea of what you feel, they’re the hardest ones. Numbness surrounds you and you don’t know what to feel. You make up poems and songs and sketches and try to create something in the form of art because that’s what you do. To let things out, to free yourself from the burden that you have on your heart. You create art.
People even appreciate it but they don’t know the wounds that you reveal through your art. There are some people who even think that they have you all figured out, and why wouldn’t they? You don’t show the depth of your feelings to them. People who are your friends, are not really friends, they’re mere acquaintances because you’re too scared to let anyone come close to you. You listen to what they talk and what they vent but you never say a word about yourself. It’s all just inside.
You think nobody knows you. But you’re wrong. I do. I know you.