Being around people is like being absent from myself. I forget who I am and that not all of the things I think and feel are actually my own. Sometimes the thoughts and feelings are borrowed, like an overdue library book I didn’t really even want to read but still haven’t returned… and may never do so. I’ll probably misplace it before I even get the inclination to return in anyway. Because it is just easier sometimes to keep those borrowed overdue books around than to write any of my own.
***I’m gonna be a tree in my next life. Then I can BE a borrowed library book one day….***