Alter ego
A recluse, I am. As the years pass by, this trait is mounting. The truth is conceited and brimming with arrogance. No one is stimulating enough. Most faces and voices cease to interest after turning a few pages. Predictable like shoes. Boring like cabbage. Limited like fences. I clam in their presence. I am happy as long as I fly. I love you because I know the sky is mine and I can return to you when the flight is over.