On some of my weaker moments I feel lonely. I wonder why people are so away from me. Why do they think I am some object? Some object they need to fear, run away from, laugh at, cry for, befriend?

I wonder why, at these weaker moments, why I need to be the way I am? Cant I be different, rather like the ones around me? Can’t I cry why I should, laugh when necessary, and talk when spoken to, and remain silent else?

At these moments, I want a home, a place I can go back to, a shoulder I can seek solace.

I love these fallible fantasies, for rest of the times, I just don’t care…