Me, or something like it.

Lately I have been searching for something without a name. I follow it and it chases me. I hide and it finds me. It reels me in and spits me out a different person everyday. What I am with you now is not who I have been. I have to look into the mirror to remember that I’m not someone else. To remember that I’m not that impulsive, passionate, irrational, glowing face I see staring back at me.

I’m not that. But I chase it. I see you in the wake of it, casually begging me to catch up. Your nonchalance about this Jekyll and Hyde within me makes me want to keep up with you even more, prove to you that I am what I see in the mirror when I don’t recognize myself. Knowing you makes that seems attainable and inescapable all at once.

It’s not something that I embrace heedlessly. Most of the time it jumps up from behind or out from murky blue-gray shadows on horribly lit streets or I see it when nothing’s there at all. It’s something I have created that you have control over. It’s a prison with no bars that I sit in willingly and without cause.

I am disenchanted and I don’t care. It’s something, really. To walk around in a dream all the time, not knowing which person I am, torn between who I am with you and who I am with someone else. And it’s silly to think I can remain both.