Alexithymia, Unable To Tell It
Life is the greatest film
I walked into a room filled with people and I feel their faces turning to look at me.
I see hands reaching out to mine in a way that describes relationships. In a way that shows there’s something amicable.
Closeness.
But the atmosphere chokes me, slowly.
“Why are their hands stretched out to reach mine? Why do they suddenly behave like we’ve known since the world began?”
I can’t seem to wrap my head around how people behave towards me. “The smiles, are they real? Do their eyes tell lies?”
I struggle to know what’s right from wrong, delusion from defusion. It’s like I’m all imagining it. “Is it compulsory that I reciprocate? Is it supposed to be an artwork where we all stand from afar and judge colours being put on paper, on cloth or things?”
“Am I by far, far from humanity or is it by far, far from me?”
“Have I possessed all that they have? Do...I?” I don’t understand it. I simply can’t.
“Is it a theatre and so everyone’s putting on their best?”
Is that it?
Shall I perform then?
