heard

It turns out that some people who know me personally are reading this; this is quite surprising. I'm used to speaking to people who don't listen... I'm used to not being heard. I see a world of depth and wonder, but I have trouble communicating that to others, and much worse, I have trouble handing over to them what I've gained.

I'm used to being invisible. I have no flashy package to make you want to know me, and even if you did, I come off as very enigmatic. I'm a bystander, the last man in the room, somebody's friend, or somebody's relative. I'm nobody and nothing, and yet that's the biggest lie of all... but it's a lie that I can't break. I return to that lie because I sense that it's what others want me to be.

I can't force myself on you, and I can't answer the questions that you haven't asked. I can't make myself seen or known. I don't really think that I'm too strange or unique, but I don't have the energy to lead you over that short bridge to my perspective... I'm shy and withdrawn, but really I'm just tired of trying to make my voice stand out above the noise.

When you tell me that you're reading this, I'm not sure what you're trying to say, but what I hear is that you're actually listening. It doesn't mean that you understand me or that you even like what you're hearing, but it means that you find something here worth exploring. Even if my words don't touch you in any way, I now know that you find me worth the attempt. That means something.

If you threw my CD on, my own mother wouldn't know that the music was mine. If you were to ask some of my closest friends the motives behind my actions, they'd instead answer with their own. Nearly every time that I try to verbally express a thought, a stranger passing by steals the other party's attention. I'm invisible. When you say that you're reading this because you want to, you're telling me that you can see me.