I open my eyes, and there they are. All of them.
Talking. Moving. Laughing. Pacing. Arguing. One is sitting, one is stretching, one is cracking their knuckles. Another one is just staring at me, head tilted, like I’m the intruder here. They don’t wait for me to catch up.
One of them is flipping through a book I never finished. Another is chewing gum too loudly. A third is picking at their nails like they don’t have a single thought behind their eyes. They don’t notice me, but they know I’m here.
And God, they won’t shut up.
All of them talking at once, over each other, through each other. Some of them are whispering things I don’t want to hear. Some are shouting things I’m too tired to deal with. One of them is humming a song I swear I haven’t heard in years.
And I,
I just stand here.
I watch as they live without me. Wear my face. Move my hands. Walk around like they own this place. And maybe they do. Maybe I’m the guest here. I don’t know which one of them is the real me. Or if I’m any of them at all.
