I wish, though, being seen was a choice. But that too, in a way that I would like, otherwise I don’t want to be seen. A nightmare that lives on despite the darkness being ridiculous some parts of the day. There too, I see, and nothing tells me, or at least no signage of being seen.
The pictures I don’t like, artificial.
Can I be read, or someone listen to me? Do people have time? Or will this seclusion persist? I have people in my life, but in my finest or truest of moments, do people listen to me?
Agree or disagree, but see me.
.