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. 

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