What I need is something intangible, and so unattainable because it is ever-changing.
Nor can what I want be defined.
To someone standing on the outside perimeters of my life I might look one hundred percent the same.
But if they had the ability to split me open, look deep inside, they would know the mask that appears to be my face is painted over the real me.
I am smoke and mirrors, an illusion.
