I realised today that I am a liar. In anonymous spaces like these, I welcome my stalkers. In more public spaces, I am my filtered self.
I say nothing too inflammatory. I try to be funny. I try to be interesting.
Here, I’m noisy in a quiet, contemplative space. I reject structure, I reject tags, I reject propriety.
And I’m so fascinated by this space that it seems to warrant comment every time I visit.
Another layer, perhaps. Another filter. No, I’m not trying to attract attention. Just writing personal thoughts in a public space for no one at all. I feel like I need to emphasise this to protect myself.
Why am I always trying to protect myself?
There is a hush.
Because it cannot be distilled to one moment and I am scrambling to remember. I hug all the memories close to my chest and hope that they are pristine. But there is no fact here, probably. Just emotionally tinged moments that colour me and flit away.
I am conscious that I am as deep as I am shallow. That I forsake my hands for my face, my heart for my mind.
I hope – quietly – that some people will forget me.
But that’s a lie. I just want to alter their memories. I can’t, though. So, I hope for the next best thing.
You don’t exist in your wrongness when you are forgotten.