Inconspicuous

I try to be as inconspicuous as possible, yet more often than not, I am usually discovered. With an inward cringe I rise to meet my fate comforted only by the fact that it will soon be over. There is hope for me yet! I applaud studious efforts that are borderline hysteria and kept well hidden from prying eyes. Nosey people, stay away.

Apparently there are no more places for me to hide, which irritates me. Sometimes there is a familiar poignancy to my flight and others there is a deep-rooted frustration that stems from something that I cannot (or is it that I will not do so) put my finger on. Perhaps I am all knowing and am not adhering to that which is clearly visible. Do you see it?

All of us only reveal parts of who we are I think. Is there anyone who can honestly say that they “know” a person as well as they know themselves? Time is no longer an enemy, but more an acquaintance to keep close … an oxy-moron, that.

Branches bend and bow, similar to some people, I think. I cower and hide. I dread and keep those wanting to be close at a distance. I can’t help it. I am alone and lonely. It is my choice to be alone within my own loneliness; yet I am not singular nor separate. I don’t feel complete or whole.

Did I ever? Perhaps at one time or another, but not now. Currently I have only glimpses that tease and taunt, heightening the frustration even further. Perhaps it is a sexual frustration that is my true malady. Dare I spread my wings? Cross that line? Seek and find?

It is not that I am a coward, for I am not. It is that I have too much respect to do otherwise and in spite of the pain and twisted turn of my thoughts, I still try in vain to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

Hopefully, the release I seek will be forthcoming. But in what manner?