Weirdness
The unremovable masks I crave to remove apart
I don’t know about the universality of this blood-boiling experience. Conversations with so-called “friends” have been hollow.
Empty as the void. There’s this part of them that they never show. All as if a theatre performance. Me and them being the puppets, simply enacting, the fake morals, the fake smiles and the fake personalities.
Others aren’t entirely to blame. I am myself a part of the circus. Deep down, I know that none of this is real, that we are being fooled by ourselves every passing tick.
And yet, here I am still enacting my part. I lack courage enough to confront the false. I fear the allegations of alienation I already carry.
[A very charming girl backtalking about every person she meets. What’s the guarantee she won’t back talk about…you? ]
This— this is the weirdness of human nature; they keep searching for realness within pretending societies.
While I ponder on the irony, I doubt whether others feel it too — the surface talks with latent deep meanings, whether they want to be free from the enslavement of pretense?
With a deep hope of this possibility, I look into their eyes searching that flicker of fatigue. And somewhere, for a moment, I find it, the longing to shed the masks away, the longing to be…real.
And that alone ignites the flare of hope in my heart.
~C.G.