August 6th, 2023 - I am no longer invisible.
I am no longer invisible.
For what seemed like an eternity, I was adorned by this great cloak of concealedness, which protected me from the critique of my behaviors or interests. In a shroud of great mystery (but little intrigue) I took about my business in days long since past...
But now, I am no longer invisible.
Like a vibrant violet blooming amidst the brilliance of a summer's day, I stand tall and unyielding, adorned with the tapestry of my endeavors. My very being is a canvas, intricately woven with my joys, appreciations, concerns, and queries. As I lay bare my portrait before the few curious onlookers I can muster, an all-encompassing hush befalls the crowd.
I am no longer invisible; I exist now.
The silence cascades through the room, echoing into the very depths of the surrounding hall. This gallery of the soul hums with an aura of uncertainty as if the revelation wasn't meant to be so sudden, so overpowering, so vivid. Onlookers silently reconsider the piece, their minds teeming with criticisms and revisions, while the hopeful discourse retreats, drowned out by the somber symphony of silence.
I am visible now.
Yet in this very moment, I yearn to be invisible again; the silence assaults my ears, while their scrutinizing gazes feel like searing daggers on my skin. To the crowd, it is a mere spectacle, a performance meant to entertain and appease, but to me, it is the culmination of a one-man show where the actor refuses to play his part.
I am visible.
Like a bright pink billboard along a country road, I scream to be seen. The hundreds who rush past the blazing sign that beckons like a siren must see something, know something that the billboard doesn't.
They speak less when I'm around, for I am visible now.
For what seemed like an eternity, I was adorned by this great cloak of concealedness, which protected me from the critique of my behaviors or interests. In a shroud of great mystery (but little intrigue) I took about my business in days long since past...
But now, I am no longer invisible.
Like a vibrant violet blooming amidst the brilliance of a summer's day, I stand tall and unyielding, adorned with the tapestry of my endeavors. My very being is a canvas, intricately woven with my joys, appreciations, concerns, and queries. As I lay bare my portrait before the few curious onlookers I can muster, an all-encompassing hush befalls the crowd.
I am no longer invisible; I exist now.
The silence cascades through the room, echoing into the very depths of the surrounding hall. This gallery of the soul hums with an aura of uncertainty as if the revelation wasn't meant to be so sudden, so overpowering, so vivid. Onlookers silently reconsider the piece, their minds teeming with criticisms and revisions, while the hopeful discourse retreats, drowned out by the somber symphony of silence.
I am visible now.
Yet in this very moment, I yearn to be invisible again; the silence assaults my ears, while their scrutinizing gazes feel like searing daggers on my skin. To the crowd, it is a mere spectacle, a performance meant to entertain and appease, but to me, it is the culmination of a one-man show where the actor refuses to play his part.
I am visible.
Like a bright pink billboard along a country road, I scream to be seen. The hundreds who rush past the blazing sign that beckons like a siren must see something, know something that the billboard doesn't.
They speak less when I'm around, for I am visible now.
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