Being

I feel. Often this seems to catch people by surprise, but I feel. Not being in love, not being dramatic, not searching. But I feel. I feel deeply. I know my heart and my heart knows me. It only knows me. I know no other who might understand my heart in the way I do. I am passionately in love with who I am. This is me and often it surprises.

I sit in corners trusting the words I hear and the actions I see. I observe life taking place before me. The laughter, the silent hurts, the flickers of yearning. All seek to be known and accepted. And this is what sets us apart: we want to be alone in our individuality. When someone tells us we are not, that we are typical, it pains even the toughest of us. We do not want to be group, categorized, or rationalized. We seek to break the boxes and the boundaries of stereotypes. In this process we become what we strive to avoid. So, I am, in this moment, being. Simply being. I am no one. I am nobody. I am of no significance.

And neither are you.