On Being Me

On Being Me

I live in a world where my breath is always taken away, beauty and meaning in everything around me, utterly in love with the perfection I see in every person in my life. My heart is as deep as the ocean and I long to share another’s heart and thoughts, understanding their fears and hopes and loves. The way they speak, the way that their words are carefully chosen, the things that they do not say, how they turn their head in a particular direction or smirk or keep the tear from escaping their eye… And I desire to take their emotion into me and hold it and heal any wound that can not be seen with the naked eye, but only felt with my heart. And it is at once too much and not enough, crazy and sane, the push and pull of wanting to be apart of everything and retreat away into nothing. But the crude clock of appointments and deadlines and teachers and meetings and the daily faces in the hallway, familiar though unknown, reminds me that the whole unexplored world seems merely plastic and fake. Such is the cruelty of reality.