chameleonized

I wish I were a very old woman. someone who has seen her share of joy and sorrow, adventure and commonplace wonder. someone who looks ahead to more sorrow, but with the experience and hopefully the wisdom and peace to temper it.

today I could be 90 years old and I would be satisfied.

sure, you say. everyone feels not their own age. but do you ever feel like you're in the wrong place, too?

I used to feel like I belonged in another time and place, but it seems I'm getting used to here, or at least feigning comfort. I act like I belong, but that's all it is, an act. chameleonized. I wonder, if I pretend enough, will I begin to blend? and end up neither here nor there, a phantom in your midst.

I don't even think I'm at home in my own self. like if I look far enough inside I'll find an understanding and a wisdom that comes from a place I'm completely unaware of, that came from someone both before and after me.

you know how writers describe characters who look young but are actually really old? or reincarnated or reformed or something? they look young but their mind and their eyes tell otherwise. on the inside of me, it feels that way.

there's more I have to say
so much more
but I disappeared