I see everything, all sides, all facets, everything all at once, and, because of this, I feel I can never truly participate, I am always an outsider, my opinion is never truly welcomed, because I see it all before it unfolds, I see both inner and outer and all of the masks before a word is even spoken, I sense the shifts in tone, in energy, in the way you stumble on a certain word or vowel sound. I am a sleuth who never asked for the job who cannot help but see clues rising up before me, screaming in my ears, dancing on my tongue, tingling on my skin. I stand on the precipice of society because it’s better for us all. If you knew what I know, you wouldn’t want me around, telling you inconvenient truths, storing up your secrets, my mind an unrelenting trap of information. I did not ask for this unforgiving gift, but neither did anyone else, so I stay silent, I slink away back into the black of lonely where I learned to live and to be and to understand why it is better this way. I am not cold. I am kind. And that is why I let you think whatever you want about me. I know the truth. I know who I am. And who you are, and who she is, and him, and so forth. And I know you could not bear the burden of it. I carry the world.
The beauty in the breakdown is the resolution to get up and keep persisting and to try again knowing the intimate realities of pain, of suffering, of failure because something even greater awaits; the beauty is strength: may we recognise it, may we celebrate it, may we preserve because of it. And though we may break over and over again, we are always whole.