A small identity crisis?

Khành Aozoi

I disappear sometimes,

But I’ve been looking for myself for a while now,

And I’m starting to think he doesn’t want to be found.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever existed at all.

If I am anything at all.

Identity has little meaning to me,

I am who I am,

Nothing more.

Yet I search

And search

And search.

I search in others,

My friends, the people who see me most clearly.

I search in my family,

The people who claim to know me best,

Even if most of the time I doubt it.

The people who claim to understand me,

Even when I don’t understand myself.

And still,

I search

And search

And search.

As if they might have the answers.

And last I search in myself,

My final resort, but hypothetically, the best resource.

I know I will not have the answers either,

But still I try in all its futility.

I cannot stand my lack of understanding.

Does anyone truly know me,

If I do not even know myself?

Or do they see and understand something I don’t?

I wonder what it is like to mourn the loss of someone you never knew.

Do I mourn the loss of myself?

Is there even anyone to mourn?

Was there ever anyone to mourn?