I am a fake.


I am a fake.

Someone once said to me that they loved the quiet, but not the loneliness that accompanies the quiet. They craved the presence of someone that was comfortable in silent company. The physical presence of one person.

I criticized that and promised to myself that I deserve better than that for myself. To be frank, I have been lying to myself. I am a fake.

I claim to love being alone and don't mind being lonely, but I have never been alone. There is always a person, something, or excuse to be with company surrounding me.

I craved being alone, or so I thought. Really all it is is a fear of being alone with myself.

I am always 'alone' in the company of someone else.

My room.

Brother is in the next room.

My car.

Radio blaring. Humming.

I don't know what I'm hiding from or what I have to be afraid of.

Maybe I am in love with the idea of being alone versus it.

I get stuck in this cycle of becoming vulnerable enough to expose myself, but not enough to gain anything. Like reading a poem and learning nothing. Taking a trip and never leaving the car. Almost like you have lived without ever living.

I can't say that I have changed. I am the same pity-filled teen that pulled down that gravel road.

I am not stripped.

I am not authentic.

I am not me. This is fake.

The least I owe to myself is to be authentic.

No more excuses...Alone with my thoughts.

Seeking Simple,

L.