Have you ever felt the existence of someone else under your skin, their teddy bear claws tracing the edge of your skin, stretching you taut like a drum marching to the beat of their war machine?
Have you floated up to the corner of the room while in a meeting and watched yourself, an illustrious marionette full of life trying to put the whole world in its place like it’s your messy room in fifth grade? Soon the play ends, the lines run out and you lay in a pile of limbs and strings wandering where all your magic drained?
Have you ignored all of this like a traveler that missed his train, looking at the schedule on the station wall like yes this is what you planned, this is exactly what you intended?
Have you felt like a fraud, a knock off, a forgery and seen that everyone around you knows it? Like tainted currency you could neither be held, nor spent, nor exchanged.
Have you ever opened your eyes to a new day and found you’re in a stranger’s body, living a stranger’s life, in a strange land, and even if you were set free you couldn’t find home, or you wouldn’t know how.
Have you stopped caring about this feeling, have you accepted it? Has it become a simple thing as your first breath of the day? Have you no longer any shame or regret, or that burning question in your head?
Have we met on that winter’s road with chestnut trees overhead, caked mud under our feet walking up to the soccer field, two troubled adolescents now grown up and everything golden that used to surround us now crumbled into a cheap pile of tin, unmitigated hate and countless novels about regret?
E. Saglamer (September 21 2020)