My life....

Anyone can get to see me, but hardly anyone can get to know me. And look, sometimes sometimes I express myself like an open book, that I speak at times more than I should, or that between jokes I blurt out some truth about myself. In part I was a mystery to the rest of the people, I was even a mystery to my own parents and friends, and over the years I also became a stranger to myself.

To remain honest, I don't know who the boy I always see in front of the mirror is, I just know that I like what I see. And I want to meet him. And maybe that's why you can sometimes notice that I'm a stranger to myself. That I am not similar to the kid of yesteryear and that something has not yet been found that can bind me as a person, as an essence.

We also live in a generation where we look around people before looking inside them. We seek to fill our eyes rather than fill our brains or hearts first. And for the joke of life, I was blessed with good looks. Although I also work for it in a small part, but to fill my eyes with myself.

And on the other side of the coin, all the girls who looked at me just did it for the looks. And I am totally different from what I show on the outside. Although sometimes I make the change and what is inside comes out and vice versa. And I get lost again in what is the facade and what is the reality of my personality.

Nobody knows anything. Not the times my neck was tied with a rope, not the times I took those pills to stop existing, where I just slept and slept. They don't know the times I fell and bled, the times they threw me and bled, the times I just gave up and bled. They don't even know how broken my jaw is, nor how shattered my chest and throat are from social anxiety. Nobody saw me in the nights when my soul cried out for its freedom, nor the times that I was really lost. Nobody knew that his eyes were not cursed and his mind rotten to dark and banal things. No one ever saw the thousands of times I dropped to my knees and cried my eyes out. Not thousands of other experiences...

And if they don't know what's bad, do they know what's good?

Well, sadly very few people have been able to meet and see at times the part where I shine. And they are counted (as) with the fingers.

The girls who tried it with me did not see the monologist that I am

inside or my comic facet. Nor did they meet the one who is a dreamer, or the one whose optimism comes out of his pores. They did not get to know my intellectual part, the one that is capable of talking to you about anything and that is always looking to continue learning, nor will they know that the boy they see spends whole nights reading or writing. That this boy seeks to give answers to the questions of his soul. That it can become the best company, that it always overcomes fear and no matter how much it walks in deep waters it does not drown. Nor do they know the creativity that I have and the great potential that it has. And I could be throwing flowers at me a while longer. But I always argue with myself about how selfish I am. At the end

I end up being a double-sided dilemma for myself, and a book in a foreign language for external eyes.

I guess this will be a quirk of my being. For better or worse.