I still find it so fascinating how people perceive me. I've worked so long to create this image, this person I thought I wanted to be, that somewhere along the way I forgot who I really am. I know that boy is still somewhere, lying dormant and awaiting to be found, yet there are times more numerous than I'd like to admit, when I feel as if I don't want to search for him. What if it turns out he's not the man I want to be, hope to be, need to be? What if he's far more reckless than the reflection I gaze upon in the mirror? As I brush the surfaces of souls I meet in passing I am left in complete disbelief of how little I know about this world. I question the purpose of their glares, the subject of their judgement, and the intent of their solicitations. I find that when it comes to me, or better yet, when it comes to this visage I created, people are either incredibly annoyed, unusually intimidated or ... they're in love.
