My identity is vague, yet overwhelming. I am yet lost on who I should consider close, whether in the moment or for my future. No matter how shoved down it may be at the time, the reoccuring desire to disappear is familial. I've never been sure how to handle it, theres no exact complications to it, its a sign to turn invisible until I feel a wake of return; a snail in its hibernating shell, with no memory alongside it. I have often conformed to a normalcy that feels ugly and unkind. Its not typical that I understand if I can confide in the comfort of pity and empathy; it's a wish I'm not sure how to work toward. Needed or not, others have seen me as a social butterfly. I always thought that I could just work with the queue, and I assumed to appear two-faced with the fear of failure and abandonment. I know that its more than that, though. It's how I disguise myself, and that guise is often something that overflows my brain with anger and regret. It is but needed, to where I confide in the hopes of a settled solidarity. That solidarity may be my only hope, but it's not a hope I'd stray away from. It is my fated comfort. May I sit for years of yearning to look at the one who can flatter me with their eyes and words. It's a tranquil that mutes my silent sobs; a lullaby.

For now, my hopes stay in the clouds.