I Am

I am.

I am me. I am myself. I have full awareness of who I am and who I once was.

I’m alive. I breathe, I speak, I move. I can converse ideas and I can act towards bullshit situations.

I exist. I’m tangible and visible. People see me and people know that I am always there.

I feel. I love and I have empathy. I have a heart that beats 24/7, 365 days a year.

I am me. And that was me in the morning.

That was me when the daylight shines upon every hopeful face, with eyes that glimmer with the sentence: “Today will be better.”

That was me when the busy streets are flooded with human beings.

That was me in the morning, where there are no time-outs for my own petty little dramas.

And that is certainly not me in the evening.

Once the sun sinks into the ocean, the moon sheds the skin that I’ve meticulously made as my costume.

Once the moon starts watching me, I start being me.

I’m never me. I’m never myself. I never had full awareness of who I am and who I’m supposed to be.

I’m never alive. I’ve never breathed real oxygen for everything is toxic, I’ve never spoken of any truth for everything is a lie, and I’ve never moved the way I was expected to for I was just too scared to do so.

I never existed. I’m never tangible for the people around me functioned the same even if I was never there. I’m never visible for the people around me just continue to pass by without even bothering to say goodbye.

I’ve never felt anything real. I’ve never felt love, I’ve never felt pain, and I’ve just always felt nothing. I have a black heart that just sucks all the color away and it doesn’t even bother beating at all.

I’m never me. And that’s only in the evening.

That’s me when the faint glow of the moon lands on my pale face. That’s me when the stars twinkle softly. That’s me when the darkness in my room keeps me company.

That’s me when I’m alone. That’s me when people don’t see me.

That’s who I really am, and she only comes out every night.

So when you flinch or twitch every second or so at night, don’t assume that it’s a ghost.

It’s just the lost soul of mine that I left. The lost soul that my once tangible body had. The lost soul that’s cursed to wander around on its own.

The lost soul of mine that always started her sentence with an “I am”.