1. I feel like I do not belong. To the place, to the mud, to the people, to the house or to the air around. A sense of being a misfit constantly claws at me. A misfit in this world. One end of the string tied to this place while the other hopelessly flailing around. I feel myself in a conundrum. Do people understand me or do they put forth a pretense? Do they know who I am or are they yet again trapped in the reflections that they have perceived of me? Do I know them well enough or is this a rewind of something that’s already happened before? Snap. Nope, no Marvel theories working out here. Maybe, it’s a reverie. Nope, still not out of it.
2. I read a book. I skim through the pages. One, two, three, so many. The plot, seems interesting enough. My attention, to the character. I read yet again. I try to find a tinge of myself in the character. Or vice versa. Something relatable? Not yet. I find metaphors. I scour through them all. Suffice it to say that, I feel slightly content with the analogy I draw to myself being a metaphor. Cliched, I suppose yes.
3. I walk past a garden. I do a double take. I trail back to the entrance. A brick lined path welcoming me. I trudge through it. A breeze rushing in to greet me, a few birds chirping, probably gossiping about my arrival. I take it all in. A fragrance clouds my senses, a quiet aura holds me in its embrace. I push away. The birds chatter yet again. The touch-me-not withdraws. I still do not feel a sense of belonging. A perpetual feeling of calm isn’t what I can relate to.
4. I now see an apartment. I walk into a flat. Don’t ask me how I know it’s yours. I just do. I look into your eyes. You tell me you are my lover. I search in those hazel orbs, a place where I reside. Maybe it’s in this lover of mine, I presume. To a certain extent, I feel a something I cannot quite name reigning over the range of my feelings. A few sweet words we exchange and then it’s back to square one. I feel restless. Question after question pestering me no end. I leave your apartment leaving you bewildered. I keep walking, I know where.
5. I find a camera. I look through it. A landscape of my body. A portrait of my thoughts. A cluttered mess. Like a bird’s haphazard nest. Perched on top a tree the others can only see but something not within their reach. A little aloof yet a dwelling to a tiny family. I feel connected, not entirely but I think I’m getting there. I fidget with the modes. Monochrome? A little too dull. Fitting it auto, nah doesn’t look like it’s working out for me. I fidget a little more. Turning the knobs back and forth. I end up a teeny bit frustrated. I leave.
6. I walk into a house. They call it my house. The walls are painted with fading memories, the floor is marbled with reflections of a few other people and me. I fail to draw a line to where they lead me to. Confused. I find a remote. A button looks like it’s just calling me to press it. A ruckus in my mind. I press it. MUTE. Too many people talking and suddenly it’s a quiet place. A sudden static hum takes over. Blocking my ears from hearing anything else. My vision blurs and the next thing I know is I’m in another place where I know I live. I live. Yes, I live here. And now is when I get the answer to my question: What if there was another me in a dimension where I knew I belonged?