I see the way you gawk in wonder. I notice the hollow of your cheeks. As it contours in awe. As it melts in smiles.
Somehow, I wish that I were deserving of it — your praises — I wish I could make it true.
It's all empty dreams and dashed hopes. Cowardice against my fears. Helplessness against my insecurities.
If only I could be half the person you think of me. If only I could merit half your smile. And never have to feel guilty of the praise. For not being a-par to it. For being undeserving of it.
It's not all shimmer and glam as I make it seem. Nor is it prim and proper. My life is a bore. A big whole of nothingness painted in perfection.
I've been good at running all along. Camouflage has been my forte. It's all wrapped up balderdash.
I'm no different from the boy on a swing. Watching, waiting, until I pine away. To the beyond where I wouldn't have to prove myself. Where I wouldn't have to hide again. Only then would I stop running.
There's nothing else to live up to and for. The place of nonexistence. That's the peace I seek. That's my heaven.
But until then I ask you cease to be amazed by me. Amazing is too strong a word to be linked to me. I'll make this easy enough by taking my leave of you. Do not keep any memories. I want to find peace undisturbed.
Peace.
I don't want parts of me living on. My image shames me. I want it to be over when the door to the realm of nonexistence shuts. And earth thuds behind. Crying for me to come back alive.
I want to find my peace then. That is the only perfection I can afford. And I know it'd be perfect for you. Do not pity me. Do not be sad. If there isn't an other life of torment or ecstasy, knowing you cared enough to smile at me, would go with me to the grave — a memory dearest to my heart.
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