I am not me.
As nobody is them.
I am every minute you kept me waiting by my window for your arrival. I am those moments of anticipation that add up to hours. But I am also the disappointment when there was nothing left to hold on to and no longer anything to wait for.
I am my teacher’s faith. I am the time he told me I was going to get the highest grade in my moments of despair. The confidence, the doubt and the marks were not -in fact- mine.
I am every telling off that has cursed my ears and crowded my mind. I am every ‘No Smoking’ sign and every slander of ‘slut’ which, in turn, keeps the world from touching my lips.
I am all the novels, all the films and quotations that fill my shelves but none of it is truly mine.
I am a jumbled compilation of everything that I have witnessed and believed so if I call myself ‘myself‘-
I’d be lying.