//January 29th of 2022
- An Observant's Confession -
Some people wish to be observant. To be able to tell whether a person is lying from the minor expressions on their faces, to be able to know how a person walks and their character that comes with it, or maybe, to be able to figure out the feelings of others from a single shared glance.
But such wish is foolish, foolish as the person who utters it.
Because beyond the advantages of being in the know, there is a curse laid upon the Observant. They are trapped in a tragedy the moment they realized the things they took notice of weren't that of normal essence. The things they unknowingly catalogued in their minds were too much, too detailed, too true, too deep, and sometimes too intimate. One can never deny the intimacy of being known. But with intimacy doesn't always come love nor great affection. In the eyes of the Observant, a person is simply walking safe of facts and mysteries and treasures, and they get to uncover each and every one without having to open the lock.
And this is where the curse plays its game: For the Observant, are most often the less observed. They are the unseen, unmined—the forgotten.
They know your hair falls in such a way, they know how you like or dislike your food, they know how to spell your name, they know the music in your laughter, they know when you last danced under the rain, they know what builds you and what breaks you, and they know what it means to exist with you. All because you haven't spared them enough second to notice them knowing.
And perhaps because being observant is a confirmation to the world that they are real.
It is a plea. A call for help. Their way to beg for their presence to become something of importance. And perhaps their way to tell you that they deserve to be noticed too. That they are worth to be known beneath their masks, beneath the façade of being the person meant to understand more.
It is a curse to be born to do the one thing others can't do unto you.
//D.A., Poems & Proses & Points of View
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Poems & Proses & Points of View
LosoweA not so everyday entry of poems and proses filled with thoughts about the world and everything. All through the point of view of a hormonal teenager who matured too early and lived so foolishly. No regrets, though.
