Questions.

The questions you don't ever dare seek the answers to.

You know what they are? I'd be surprised if you didn't. You might ignore them completely and banish them from your thoughts, but they're always there, lingering somewhere in the vastness of your mind, caught up in the daily torrent of new information that floods your consciousness from one side to the other, not a single spot goes uncovered by fleeting thoughts. Spontaneous, random thoughts. Memories sparked by the smallest of things.

I find the most common questions are "why?" and "what if?".

Why me? Why today? Why not? What if I'd chosen something else? What if it was a mistake? What if it wasn't?

A famous quote that I've always loved is:
Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?
The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to
Alice: I don't much care where.
The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.
Alice: …so long as I get somewhere.
The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.

Where do I want to get to? Do I really want to take any path and see where it leads me? No. Because I care where I go. I care that I can end up in high society, but that if I'm not careful, I'll simply fall off the tightrope strung between the high-rise buildings of a city and plummet into the countryside slums. Tired and beaten, without any resolve, robbed of all hope of a life as I had when I was a child vanishing, left closer to the sky than my own heart and soul. Vague remnants of what could have been, haunting me. Always. Forever.

You can't escape from your own mind, not without death. And then, there is no way back. I sigh as I think of the last time I was truly happy. I can't remember it. The force-fed information clouding my mind. Equations and events in history forming a solid barrier, a road block that can successfully halt all coherent thoughts and make sure not a single memory pops through. The mechanics of waterfalls and volcanoes acting as police, only letting through what is relevant to the moment, arresting offenders and throwing them into jail to rot and be forgotten. With some luck, the occasional memory won't be given a life sentence and seems to come back after a certain time.

I sit, sometimes, often really, wondering why I miss the sting of a sharp blade against the delicate porcelain skin of my forearms. I wonder when it all started, when I became paranoid. I wonder why and how. I wonder when I saw her. When I really noticed her. Her cool blue and green eyes, wispy hair, arms covered in ink. In thoughts she dares to write down, thoughts she challenges to be forgotten. She always wins. Purple dust settles gently on her lids, the kiss of a fairy of some kind. She doesn't need it to be beautiful, she is already, but that tiny detail simply adds to her complex personality that I can't help but love. I look at her and I see a wonderful person, who knows who she is, who knows her path. When she speaks to me, the weight of the world is lifted, just for an instant I am allowed to concentrate on her voice, otherworldly beauty. But reality is relentless and comes crashing back. Unsettling thoughts, make me wonder where I truly belong. Where I changed, and really, why I changed. Where did I get off and go the other way? Why did I change my mind then? Why me? Why her?

I told you those questions always come back. Why. What if I hadn't changed? What if I chose to stay in the same lane instead of hitchiking in the opposite direction? What does that say about me? They call me disgusting. Not to my face, not really, since they don't know me. But they do, I see the hatred and fear in their eyes, the disgust that contorts their features as they speak of the likes of me. Each word, each proof of their repulsion like a sweet dagger plunging into me. And not even intending to kill, no, not lethal at all, but delivering the pain of the world with each blow. Bury me alive. It'll hurt less that way. Nobody will know.

I wonder, is it real? When did pain replace sweets, warmth and comfort, family and friends? It reminds me of how difficult dying would really be, no matter how much I might want it. Ironic, don't you think?

And who are you? A fleeting soul, drifting in the time-space continuum? A lost cause only waiting for its fate? Or a package of confidence and joy, fitting everyone's expectations? Or maybe you're simply, you? What if you're different to everyone else, like me? What if showing your true self would mean you would simply disappear into the dark, left to fight for yourself, without a weapon or any idea of how to go about surviving? How would you feel, not knowing if you have survival instincts that will kick in? After all, you're not part of the species so to say. You break the fundamental rules of life, evolution and survival.

There are so many questions that need answers, and don't believe anyone who says curiosity killed the cat, because the cat is still there, alive, in plain sight like the sun on a clear day or the puddles left by a passing storm. People don't see it anymore because it has the answers that we don't. They only see what they want. They only see what they know. And they don't want me. They don't know me. So they don't see me.