me. just one little word that can hardly describe a person, except maybe to the person it is meant to be describing. even then sometimes you can look in the mirror and wonder who that is staring back at you so i guess it doesn't even work that way either. so me, who are you? who am i? you know very well who i am. but what if i don't? that's quite possible of course in a world where anything is possible. maybe no one is as they seem to be and everything's just make-believe. maybe that would be better than this but who knows what the real world would be like if this was just a fantasy. ...and what a sick person to think up this particular fantasy.
i started out on something here. me. yes that's it. i started out trying to describe me. any ideas? i have a few but they're mostly just in jumbles trying to get out. i could simply write down whatever came to mind when i thought of myself, but it's too easy to get off track that way and then who knows where i'd go. not me and surely not you. who are you anyway? who am i for that matter? do you have answers to these questions? if so please leave them in the suggestion box on the wall. i need all the help i can get. but back to me. ah yes... i think i know, or at least i have an idea which is all you really need to fake your way through in this world...
me. who am i? a jester, a mourner, a dreamer? maybe. a wanderer, a watcher, a shadow on the wall? more likely. i am me. i have a name. i live in a town and i go about and do stuff. all part of the act i star in though. i come here to hide. i have many other escapes, but this is one. maybe a not so good one since they have found me but it is my hiding place. i go about my life sometimes in a daze, grabbing words to put together, fitting them like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle until i find the right combination and the picture begins to take shape. i do this for enjoyment. i am myself, and i am others, and i am no one all at once. i hear them speaking to each other and sometimes write down their conversations. no one sees these. i go to town and i walk down the streets, suddenly not there, but watching and seeing. i am the jester, the mourner, the dreamer. i am the wanderer, the watcher, the shadow sitting there. i am many others too. i am the one standing in the rain doing nothing else but standing. i am the one who gazes up at the night sky in wonder. i am the one who runs through the summer fields filled with nothing but the pure joy of life. i am the one who sits in the dark, thinking, whispering, chained down, knowing nothing but despair. you may think me odd for this but cast away your puzzled look and glance down into your own self and see if what you find there is as odd as what i found.
©1998 m. hughes
