In front of the mirror, I make myself into perfection.
Layer upon layer, I create a persona, a creature I want to be, to be believed.
A bus I used to know, large bag of heavy memories and the regrets of someone some time ago who drove me to fear some fires.
A sea of faces I have grown to ignore, I walk alone into a space that was a second home.
The back of a gentleman I once spoke to, just a ways in front of me. I dart into the hallway I spent nights wandering, laughing, tricking doors into not locking me away.
The room of education, of art, of three years of my life.
To my left – room into room of familiar faces.
I am smoke, passing through without a breath nor a word nor a hair noticed.
I look through the hall door, a play on repetitive motion, I had it seen so many times.
What is air. What is tension.
This is no nostalgia.
These are what I used to know.
What I thought I knew.
What I wanted to believe I knew.
Breeze whisks me away.
I will not become a disaster.
I was never what you used to know.