The face in the mirror is supposed to be me. Marked by all that is me. But, who am I? The face doesn’t seem familiar to me. It was formed by influence and experience, not by me.
Others look in the mirror and see themselves, I see a stranger. Someone I’ve never met, but would like to. They live inside of me, waiting to come out. So many questions, but no answers to be found.
Homeless. Hopeless. Lost. Found. Truthful. Shy. Loud. Scared. Nervous. Unknown. New. Old.
It’s all me, yet none of it is. Searching day and night, months and years. To me, life is a mystery. When will it be solved? My face, a mask. Worn to hide the shame, fear, ignorance, innocence, lies; it all hides. I’m always running, but I feel like I’m standing still.
Running, running, from where? To where? To find me. The face that I made, not others. The home that I picked. The life that I chose. Myself, not others. I will start new. A fresh page. A clean slate. Maybe one say when I’m running, I’ll be ready. Ready to stop running. Ready to be myself. Ready to reveal myself.
Ready to take off the mask.