Most people make the mistake of thinking I am always together. Of course, this is far from the truth.
I am not always together. Most of the time, I am scattered in several places all at once, pulling desperately at the pieces to shape a coherent, sensible whole. I am as together as a puzzle hit by the cyclone-tantrum of a two-year old.
What I am adept at is pretending. Surface-level assurance. Willpower engine. The shallow hi’s and trench-deep hellos. Everything is fine and dandy, but in truth, I’ve got the chills and nobody knows.
I am not together and I am not whole. I am stardust flung across different galaxies, with no chance of meeting in a single lifetime. I am shattered glass from an old, forgotten chandelier in a house coloured by the footsteps of ghosts. I am a raindrop crashing to the ground, anticipating the sweetness of a fall.
On days like these, I feel like nobody and nothing at all.










