"Short Timing"

I used to stand in the cold, watching the rain drip from the brim of my hat. I wanted someone to notice how stoic I was. In these moments I imagined my life had a soundtrack. As the music played, I stared toward the horizon like a man wandering around in an echo. I heard only the rain and the narrator's voice describing me to the audience. I lived in this intoxication, hiding from the squareness of reality.

In hindsight, the truth about me was that I was just scared. Creating a place inside oneself that feels safe is not the worst a person could do. I never wanted to hurt anyone; I was just trying to survive the internal battles that came in waves. Sometimes I felt like the world operated on a different frequency than myself, pulsing with a slanted rage that was too powerful to survive. If fighting is futile and surrender means you become what you hate, you learn to cultivate a private impropriety of sorts. At this point, It doesn't matter whether or not anyone ever notices that you seem lost. At least what's inside is yours. No one has the power to clip the wings of a bird that only flies in the imagination of a desperate man.