I am not of this world,
I never belonged to it.
There are a million stories taking place around me, none of which I have any place in. Closest I’ve come is to have borne direct witness to some (one or two), which as you can imagine has a nasty way of intensifying alienation.
It’s like being the best friend of a main character within the nuclear cast of a sitcom: where, for the purpose of keeping the storyline focused and brief, the supporting character has no life of his or her own outside of their life as supporting character. It’s rare for real life to happen like this, however, because real people switch between being main character and supporting characters within the same life, usually several times within the same day.
I’m not real, though. Here, I am neither he nor she within the story, I’ve been shut out of it (again) even though this one is legitimately mine. I am IT. This is no self-deprecating sentiment. There is tremendous autonomy and power in being IT.
This is actually the beauty, and not the tragedy, of my life.
