A breather

Its dark by the time I leave my friend’s home. We didn’t even realise how the time passed by. That’s the beauty of best friends-you could spend forever in their company and not realise it.

The night sky is dark and it’s soothing to my eyes unlike the excessive brightness of everything nowadays. The scene is pierced by the sharp headlights of vehicles moving past me on the road; a part of the aforementioned excessive brightness. Passerbys spare me a glance like I look at them, only I notice and they don’t.

When I was a child, I used to try to move things with my mind, trying to see if I had supernatural powers. I haven’t changed much since then. Every person who walks by me is an experiment, an observation. I try to look through the cracks of their facade. What is she thinking now, as her face pales? The slight shine of reflected light from the corner of his eye, what is he hurting about? Is she trying to drown the world out by maximising the volume of her music player?

Every person is a canvas. You can see what they show on the outside and not know what was painted earlier beneath. You can only look for the slight oversight, pick out from small instances what lays underneath. You have to look close and peel the deceivable outer sheet. Peel through the layers of a person, and get to know the real one neath.

I glance upward and look at the stars shining. The blanket of sky enveloping the living beings planning to rest. Will I be able to get through the next day? I let all my worries and trepidations flit through my mind in somber thoughts, and release them into the air. I let nature fill me with calmness and strength. Leaves crunch under my foot as I take the fifteen-minute walk home. I break open everything inside me and offer them as confessions to the sky; and rebuild my surface again piece-by-piece. I take a breather for that little bit of time and come back into my shell. Another round starts when I reach home, to more people who think they know me completely. Who see the green mountain and not know of the volcano underneath.

I take the last few minutes to observe passerbys again, looking close for the cracks in their facade. After all, maybe it takes one hiding very carefully in plain sight, to recognise another. Or maybe all of us in this reality spend our lifetimes hiding our true selves from one another. We will not know until someone bares themselves. We will not know. All we can do is wonder.

With those last few lines running through my mind, I carefully insert the key into the lock and twist. Last act of the day. I take a deep breath and ready myself to last till I say goodnight, and I step inside the house with a smile.

My life is only a very good play. And I am only an exceptional actor.

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