The surrounding people never attracted me, which, I assume, was reciprocal. It was mostly due to my curiosity that intruded their persona. When an uninhabited shell discovers the ability to live through the eyes of others, it develops a horrendous habit. That despicable obsession of observing them. It made every person that crossed my path, turn around without a glance. No one would believe me, but I wasn’t investigating them, I was looking because it was interesting to see.
...
Every day, I woke up to a new face.At moments, my face would be shaded by a hood or a cap leaving me in doubt of my sanity. Occasionally my eyes would hold a sparkling ocean, alternatingly, rivers would be flowing downhill hollow cheeks. There are faces who don’t even care to swipe it, whilst meticulous visages would furiously try to swallow their own hand.
Every day I am vehemently waiting to meet me. I don’t care how I look, as long as I can feel a breath, a presence, a being. Any face might bring me the joy of living, even if it is through an ephemeral existence. I just know that I cannot be left alone. When those faces disappear, I cannot tell if I am alieve, or even if I am here. Every now and then, whilst the protected nights deepen, when no soul can free me of my faint rantings, I can see it. I can grasp it. The faded white of the floor tiles... The swing of creaking doors... Those dirty stalls...
A delusion wanes away as the blue pills escape the frame. “Welcome to the desert of the real.”
I am used, and I use. For them, I am just a portray of their expectations, beliefs and lives. For me they are the matrix of my reality. They incarnate the avatars that carry me away from bathroom’s walls.
Strangers, travellers, scholars, murderers, preachers, and so many more of them come to me. They all exist in me, yet, once discarded, they all leave me.
Today is the coldest night; I don’t have any content. The deepest void of one’s soul is a mirror without face.