I imagine I no longer exist in the form of human flesh and blood. I’ve blended into colors and places, into feelings and faces.
My observation leads to so many discoveries. I peel a layer and find another. There is no end to the fascination conceived by my curiosity and, sometimes, paranoia. I can actually see through your soul. Not that I’m some supernatural entity deciphering the complex nature of your shitty being; I just know. You would know, too. Look closer. Gestures and tones give so much away.
Your secret is never yours unless you’ve done everything in the universe to hide it. My dilemma lies in my acute sense of feeling vibes from people. I know what you’re saying even when you’re not. I know what you’re not saying when you are. It’s not a gift, mind you. Nothing is a surprise when you know what’s going to happen. No mystery remains long enough to grapple my interest. Before I ramble on, remember, this isn’t a power, this isn’t an ability.
Knowledge is power, they say. In this case, my knowledge and sixth sense combined is a pain in the ass.
I yearn for child-like incorruption. I want to ask questions, to know more. I want to know that I don’t know. I would do anything to have the firmly-established belief gone that claims people are predictable, that the world is evil, that you die alone. I long for beautiful simplicity found in the most mundane of things. My god, sometimes I even wish I was nine and died right after my tenth birthday.
I’d blow away the candles and wish for a tree house. Engraved in italic, my epitaph would whisper, “An innocent, sugary-sweet death.”