There comes a "What's wrong?" and the job is done.
So, I utter an 'I'm-ok' and justify my part of the wrongly worshipped formality.
And no one cares to read between the lines.
Empty spaces enclose my existence and the rest of the world seems like a story book again, with good characters and bad, with blue skies, butterflies, colors, smiles, struggles, happy-endings… with non-emptiness, whose chapters I can read wherever I am and yet never enter into the pages; just exchanging a few lines every once in a while, not knowing if I am fictional to them or they are to me.
Yet, I reach for and roll the dice to feel something tangible, to have my own story to narrate, to be a part of the real story book. Apparently, I’m way too black and white to complement the flamboyance there.
And the connecting colors dissolve between the lines.
People, I know many. I wonder where do I miss it every time that I get left out within the crowd, why me and my acquaintances seem to be from two different galaxies, like we’ve only collided coincidentally and have our own spins to take care of . The real conundrum lies in why I’m still summoned for every time I somehow convince myself of the dividing line; why occasional apologies and gratitude get posted my way; why a smile is dedicated to me, provoking expectations – if I am to be abandoned anyway.
The abnormal reasons turn invisible between the lines again.
Breathe. Breathe. Move. Follow the rules. Follow the appealing smiles. Smile back. Blink. Blink. Turn around.
Meanwhile, the princess walks away- a business of everybody, and so everyone treads on a new automated path.
Change with the change? Can I? Can you? Originality can’t be so cheap, I bet.
So, it’s me and only me, left behind.
In the end of the day it’s you and only you anyway, with joys and regrets of the day and the world doesn’t know what you think as you curl up in your blanket. What exactly do I think? Read between the lines.