It is so late at night and I shivered as my own hand trail along my cold skin of an arm. The grip on my heart loosen slightly knowing that these words will never identify themselves as mine and only here, under the eyes strange to me as I to them, can I truly cry.
It is almost depressing knowing that I, as who I purport to be among my friends/boyfriends/girlfriends/family will never be the I, who is myself.
It almost depress me knowing that I had built myself in such a way that I can only be human far from the people I know. It is almost strange that they think they know who I really am. Truth be told, beside all ironic sayings, they only see what I let them see. When they envision me, their minds would whirl to a charming, polite, rather quiet boy who loved ravishingly and in the company of others who love him almost as fiercely. Which is all well save for the fact that the boy has never felt more lonelier than ever, given the people around him.
I am tired. So I don't think I can be that boy, anymore. This time, I am almost as sure as the cold that creeps beneath the graying singlet I am wearing. It is no longer on thin ice, but out in the cold; this truth.
