Just to write

I think hard and then I laugh when you tell me how you see me. I laugh because of your inaccuracies and I think hard because I wonder about the way I see myself, which is different from the way you or other people see me.
I suppose this is the way life is. (. . . Isn’t it?)
We are three people. We are who we think we are, who say we are, and then we are who people see us as.

And it’s the third part of that equation, which always troubled me.

As I see it:
There is the real me. Then there is the me I think I am. Then there is the me I want to be. This is my trinity.
For my life to be successful, the trick is to have these three things meet in equal parts . . .
and be comfortable with what I see

We look around to see others and how they choose to live. We do this but we never really take them into consideration. And what I mean is we never consider that other people have their own hangups.
We never think they have fears (just like we do,) and we never really stop and realize that other people have tragedies too. Some people just hide it better. That’s all.

I always think about a time I had with a young girl. We were in a park; only, we weren’t together. Instead, we were two different people from two separate crowds that lived two completely different lives.
She was part of the pretty crowd. She was popular and well known. I was well known too but for very different reasons.

Somehow, circumstances brought us together. She was having a bad night and so was I. My night was bad because of where I was and what I did.
Her night was bad because she had an overly possessive boyfriend, whom I think might have cheated on her or humiliated her in front of her friends. He was a jock. He was drunk and much bigger than me. This meant I was in dangerous territory.

The girl came to a spot in the park where I was sleeping. I was hiding away on a park bench. She never saw me there. She just came in and sat down not too far away.

I never liked this girl. At least, not really. But then again, maybe I did like her.
She embodied all that I hated or pretended to hate. More accurately, she embodied everything I envied and admired.
She was the top girl from the pretty crowd. To me, she was lucky. She had real friends and a real life
(or so I thought.)

We talked for a while. I was uneasy about this because of her boyfriend and the possible beating that would come should he arrive when the girl and I were in mid-conversation.

Turns out she didn’t hate me. Turns out the girl felt the same way I did about a lot of things. Turns out that no matter where we come from, we all have this thing inside us that makes us wonder if we’re really crazy.

And I used to think I was crazy.
I used to think something was wrong with me but there wasn’t.
See, the thing is crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. And stupid people don’t know they’re stupid. They think they’re smart. I know I say this a lot but maybe somethings need to be said a lot

Perhaps, this is why I laugh when you look at me and tell me what you see. Maybe this is why I shake my head sometimes because your interpretation of what I say is amazing to me.

Safe to say I struggle to see myself the way others do.
Safe to say most of us struggle with similar subjects.
But it’s not so bad . . . the way I see me.
It took a while, but I learned to love what I see.

Someday though, if I can, I would love to see what the world looks like through the lens of someone else’s eyes. I want to feel what touch feels like when felt by someone else’s hand.

I would like to watch the sunset as someone else to see if I still feel the same fascination. Also, I would love to watch the sunrise and see if it is still as meaningful.

I have an idea now.
I have a need.

I want to walk the beach at Point Lookout. I want to walk around the pond at Eisenhower Park. I want sit on a field on a blanket and watch the sun go down; not as anyone else or see this through someone else’s eyes. I want to go and see this on my own, for no other reason than this: these places have meaning to me. And since these places mean so much, I thought I’d leave them here and share them with you.

See, the thing is . . .
It used to be that I could never tell anyone my thoughts or feelings. I could never share my dreams or ideas. I was too afraid.
I was too afraid to speak because if I shared my hopes and told you about my desires, they might vanish or disappear, and then I would have nothing left to keep me going.

So, please
take this, if you don’t mind.

This is all that I have.
This is my everything

I’ll just leave this here . . .

To share it with you


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