I am not here.
I am suppose to be present, be here now. Lately, I feel completely disconnected, that a drop from the sky would send shivers down my spine.
I am not here. I continue to tell myself.
I should be taking in my surroundings. Taking in the culture, the people, the language, the streets, the movers and the shakers. Listening to the vibrancy of the sounds on the outside, instead I close myself off to the world hiding inside. I am not here, I can’t be found. Finding myself sitting in empty chairs, patiently waiting, very still. Waiting for something, anything to see me. Be here now.
Watching shadows cast themselves over me. I’ve spend so much of my time talking, explaining, forming words to explain this descend into madness. I am tired of talking. All I ever do in life is talk and open up my insides for the world to see, that all I want to do is close myself off from the world. Explaining things to people who will pay attention then later pay no mind to when it’s gone. It’s not fair of me to take you away from your regularly scheduled programing, so I keep these feelings inside and wait this all out.
I am sitting in empty chairs, closing myself off from the world, in complete silence not explaining a thing. Sit and watch colors turn from black and white to vibrant blues and greens. I can hear voices but seldom ever see the faces. Sit in silence, not say a world. Staying completely still. Breathing softly and watching the world go by. Watching things I never noticed before, accumulate the dust of time. All those times spent looking toward other things. All the stories I’ve told that make no significance at this moment. All the things I’ve said that no longer make a difference. The longer I remain quiet the less likely people will notice me.
Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe it was always better this way.