I’ve been searching.
With a longing heart and droopy eyes, I’ve not stopped wandering.
I’m trying to find me. To find what makes me tick. To discover exactly who I am and to never sway ever again.
I’m just fighting to belong.
What I used to love… I just don’t need anymore. Don’t want it. In a way, I despise it.
Those past delights only bring up present confusion.
Who was she?
Who is me?
Why aren’t I she?
Why am I me?
And how am I supposed to explain to you, and to everyone else, why I’ve changed when I’m not quite sure myself?
All I’ve been chasing is happiness.
Why do I keep losing my shoes along the way?
Will I ever know me?
Did I ever know she?
I’ve accepted the beginning of my evolution, but that doesn’t mean you have. No, familiarity is a gift like no other. Familiarity is what keeps a dementia-consumed mind anchored to the will to live.
You want me to stay this way because it’s familiar. I’m familiar.
I don’t recognize myself, but as long as your end of the looking glass is spotless, mine can be fog-ridden. Right?
I am a solid fact to you. An anchor that you may not be aware is helping you stay grounded when everything else changes.
So who am I to take that from you? Who am I to steal a delight of yours over an uncomfortableness of my own?
Am I selfish?
Am I selfless?
No really, please, who am I?
Life can be messy. Thank God I have my faith and my pencil.