this is what it means to know me

everyone is always curious. peeking through a slightly ajar door. around a dim corner. devoting their attention to my external being. examining your stature, the purse of your lips, the flickering expressions in your eyes.

but I wonder if they really want to know me. if they are daring to take that leap of faith. if they are willing to pull apart the fibres of what it means to be me, if they are patient with the frustrating entanglement of meanings within my strung up soul, if they are okay with forming the deep connections I so desire.

is everyone just scratching the surface with their fingertips? fabricating friendships from these shallow impressions? or maybe I am being a ridiculous, petulant, stubborn child, demanding the universe to understand me when I don’t even have the answers to my questions.

I just want someone to reach inside the expanding void in me and tell me, I know how this feels. I want them to say, I shall stay here, lay down with your emotions and unpack them, slowly, carefully. tonight, we shall unveil the constellations of thoughts you have been keeping to yourself and free you from this insomniac struggle. is it too much to ask for?

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