you will never be still
they are all around you. these people you don’t know.
the world is filled with them. your days are filled with them.
you know so little about them, even the ones you do know.
they walk beside you, every day. they are silent, they say nothing you understand.
they are people you see in movies, you have lunch with, you buy your coffee from.
they are like you, human, but nothing inside them resembles the blood and meat you know to compose yourself.
they are human, like you, but they are nobody you would ever know to be like you.
they have no shape, they fill anything they can find, they are always searching for new vessels.
they run and leap into the next chest, one after the next, consuming the life inside.
they are shifty, treacherous things.
or you might find sometimes you do know them. one of them, maybe.
and you know them deep and they remind you that you can know people.
and sometimes you know them too well, and it’s clear they don’t know you.
but it’s not because they haven’t tried or because you don’t want them to.
it’s because you are one of them. you are the people no one knows.
you know someone so well and so deep, but you realize they have never known you the same.
and you don’t know why you are one of those people.
you don’t know why you walk down the street a stranger.
your insides might not even be made of the same stuff you think they are made of.
maybe you are a shapeshifter too.
or maybe you have known the whole time.
you have tried to be one thing, one knowable thing. to stay in one easy form.
you have found someone who can be known, and you have known them deep.
but then you begin to itch, and you know that no matter how deep you have known someone, how badly you have wanted them to know you, for you to be easy, still, knowable, it’s no use.
you are one of the strangers.
you have known all along that you were not made for one shape, that you are one of the treacherous things that jumps from one chest to the next, that inhabits any vessel you can find.
you are terrified of yourself. as you reach inside, you can feel that your insides are not the same.
they are hollow and formless. you are hollow and formless.
you are a stranger.
you will never have the pleasure of being knowable, of keeping form long enough to really enjoy things.
you walk beside them, you are seen, but they will never know you deep.
you will never know you deep.