Sometimes I wonder
what place is meant for me,
and if anyone truly sees
the person I am beneath the surface.

I move through the world
half-hidden, half-hoping
someone will look closer
and understand the parts I never say aloud.

What is my place
if I am always translating myself
just to be easier to hold?
Who would love me
if I stood fully as I am?

Still, I carry hope
that one day someone will say,
I see you,
and mean all of it.

Until then, I keep wondering
if my place in this world
is waiting somewhere aheada"not for who I pretend to be,
but for me.

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Sarapin, in the year 1000 AF.