There is glass between me and you.

Actually, it’s a one way mirror.

It’s a funhouse.

It’s a silent room on my side.

And there is a life being lived,

Clearly reflected,

And you can see something I don’t.

But I can see everything.

I can hear everything.

It’s so clear.

But when I’m told what they see,

What they remember,

I question the clarity they thrive in

When the mirror shows not what they want.

So I watch them shape reality to their choosing.

And I watch them become liars.

And I watch them fill in the blanks.

The quiet and personality I refused to give.

The context and the explanation. The reasons for my behavior. I watch them, closely, and perplexed as to how everyone else seems to agree through opaque lenses.

And yet, I am the only one who doesn’t see what they see. There is glass in between, and silence for me. And a funhouse for them, full of mirrors.