Sometimes it feels as though the me who looks back from behind mirror is a mask... As if the clothes on my back are little more than a costume and like the smallest of breezes may blow it away. A part of me wishes this disguise away although I cling to it tightly fearing a momentary lapse of judgement may revel the real me. It terrifies me to be real, it makes me feel... vulnerable. So rather than tempting fate, I find myself each morning washing away who I am, to hide behind a costume made of little more than false courage and mimicry.

Although, sometimes late at night... doors locked, windows shuttered you may find me... the real me, cuddling a pillow for safety as I fall asleep. Only to wake and wash him away again.