Stage

It's 5:25am. I like to listen to conversations with people, eavesdrop on what they say. A lot of the time they things that show their mask, that they've so carefully carved. Sometimes though, when the mask begins to crack, and the finely tuned paint begins to wear off, I can see them for who they are. Feeble, and fragile, as if made of glass. I constantly search for these things, but  at the same time when I see them they are like turtles, constantly going back to the mask. It's strange, because for me I like to use the mask fully, only at times when I find convenient I show who I am. I fear that if I show the real me, they will not like it. It is not an issue of likableness, but an issue of the fear that I will have towards these mounds of flesh. Like I cannot actually root myself in the forest of trees. I am but a robot in a world of bark. A truly steam made machine, imbued with oil and the hand of man, in a world of green vibrancy, that froths at the mouth with moss and ticks. Kicking around the battered horse, I know I am different, but not in a way that is acceptable, like the serial killer or the rapist. It is quite discomforting, but I must adjust, for one does not fight the genetics in our blood. I have been trying to see the world from a glass window, but it is crooked. A pane that is colored in ruby red, while I take a look around and see others looking at it from a shade of ocean blue. If I do not see what they do, do the things that I see truly matter? Are the things in my brain, the things in my hands, really there? If they are not, then they do not matter, and the reality of realness is under another sheet of glass. True, should I look for this pane, steal it from a person next to me, or accept my own pane? A pane that I have looked through for years, and that has gotten more deformed and complex throughout the years? I do not know, and feel as if I will never know. The knowledge though, is what is more important, because I get to know about the other glass windows, instead of simply seeing it through mine. Seeking, curiosity the fear, the life. It is what we must always acknowledge, and I am thankful for that. Until we meet again, in the next window...