Tears for the hidden...
Ever asked yourself if anyone really sees you. I mean really looks at you and takes note of your existence...
I have. I ask myself most likely the same questions others have already uttered and have answered;
Do they see me? The me behind the painful smile, the me behind the shielding sarcasm.
Am I seen as a true friend, a worthy rival, an interesting stranger.... a potential love-interest?
Do they notice my reaction, my mood, my true character?
Do I leave an impression, a moment, a memory?
Can they see past the armor, see the scars, the fears, the uncertainty?
Are they pretending for courtesy, or giving with sincerity?
Can they see the story, the life, the reasons?
Can they imagine the horrors, the betrayals?
Do they see the tears shed for each crack, made by the innocence of words spoken in jest?
I have found myself asking these questions over and over.
I have watched patiently as others have gained their answers.
I have observed the outcome of their stories, felt their tears and envied their laughter.
Many have asked these questions, and many have had them answered.
Still, I wait for my turn. For my answers.
Still I wait for the 'time that is right...'
But I am human. Flawed and damaged by a life grown from betrayal & disappointment.
I am human. So I can not help but be plagued by weakness. And my weakness grows with each passing day.
My weakness which darkens my hopes for an answer, my wish for an outcome.
I am impatient, and even my damaged view on the world understands the destruction of such a weakness.
Still I wait, and watch slowly as my weakness eats away at my patience.
But I am naive, and thus I'll wait.
I'll wait until nothing is left but the darkness of my impatience.
Until then I'll wait...
I have. I ask myself most likely the same questions others have already uttered and have answered;
Do they see me? The me behind the painful smile, the me behind the shielding sarcasm.
Am I seen as a true friend, a worthy rival, an interesting stranger.... a potential love-interest?
Do they notice my reaction, my mood, my true character?
Do I leave an impression, a moment, a memory?
Can they see past the armor, see the scars, the fears, the uncertainty?
Are they pretending for courtesy, or giving with sincerity?
Can they see the story, the life, the reasons?
Can they imagine the horrors, the betrayals?
Do they see the tears shed for each crack, made by the innocence of words spoken in jest?
I have found myself asking these questions over and over.
I have watched patiently as others have gained their answers.
I have observed the outcome of their stories, felt their tears and envied their laughter.
Many have asked these questions, and many have had them answered.
Still, I wait for my turn. For my answers.
Still I wait for the 'time that is right...'
But I am human. Flawed and damaged by a life grown from betrayal & disappointment.
I am human. So I can not help but be plagued by weakness. And my weakness grows with each passing day.
My weakness which darkens my hopes for an answer, my wish for an outcome.
I am impatient, and even my damaged view on the world understands the destruction of such a weakness.
Still I wait, and watch slowly as my weakness eats away at my patience.
But I am naive, and thus I'll wait.
I'll wait until nothing is left but the darkness of my impatience.
Until then I'll wait...