I want them to see what I’m doing….there’s that uneasiness and relentless anger that comes with doubt of not knowing.The kind of stoic anger that makes your blood boil in solitude. Do they see me?? What if they miss all the important things I’m doing? What if at the last minute they just catch me at my worst moments. Would they think that’s how I always am? Ah but to be a fool of my own imagination, now that would be irony in it’s cruelest form.I can’t act like this all the time, I want to be myself. I want to be someone that doesn’t mind not being noticed. To drift peacefully in a blissful melancholy of my own creation. The dream was always there, in all it’s superfluity, courage and ambiguity. I am who I am, indescribable, and yet familiar to those who know this feeling of…anguish.