Every day I’m more invisible, every week is quieter. I forgot what it was like to be no one, unextraordinary, a blink of someone’s eye. It’s comfortable.
But for a handful of people, I’m family. And family is different now. Among a handful of people I am unconditionally loved; as long as I’m a brilliant, incorruptible badass.
Flat-out, I don’t feel like I’ve experienced this before. Friends were circles of people I would visit with and move on. Parents were people who were always not-quite-sure about me. Everyone was at arm’s length. Now most people are, but some aren’t. I don’t feel the need to have an opinion about it, which is good because I don’t know what to think.
Everywhere I go there are memories – of buildings, people. Signs on walls – I went to a dance here, I kissed my ex-fiancee there. This is where I snubbed the president of the university. I hope he doesn’t remember.
I feel like I had a brother and these are his memories, but he’s gone. We never knew each other, but I have his memories. Sometimes I feel like I’m writing this for him.
I was talking to someone about flaws – things to work on. I said I think I talk too much. I feel a compulsion to say what I think should be said. It’s reckless, and I should learn to be quiet.