Cinema

Sometimes I look at myself from the outside. I observe the things I do in rooms full of people and the things I do when no one is around. I look at how I change from room to room.

It isn’t always pretty, staring at the glisten running from my eyes and nose, hearing the words I use to speak of others, watching myself breaking.

It wouldn’t be my choice of cinema.

I look small and unimpressive.

I sound cynical and ungrateful.

I am lonely and mentally retired, checked out from a life I have never checked into.

I am the gears behind the face of a clock, winding and slow, churning through the tics and tocs of existence.
I do not see the hero I wish to see, but a confused kid, angry with herself and her uncertainty.

It is not the movie I would choose to watch, but it is the life I choose to live.