and a vision of apocalypse in my truths
When reflected in another’s eyes, one never sees the scars they know to be on their soul.
In someone else’s mind, i feel that i must be a thing of beauty, with traits, clear or shady, as they may be, quite flawless, because no spectator of my current being can claim to recall the past that has shaped this human that is, now. Yet, just as much, no one can understand my reasons and, while i’m quite grateful for not being see-through, it does leave me in a morose mood to think of this beloved silence that condemns me to my loneliness, a state too old to rouse my interest and to persistent in its continuous presence to be ignored.
