Sometimes I get lost
and I can’t find me.
When I finally unearth her from beneath the dining room table
she sheepishly confesses she is afraid,
insecure.
Insecure!?  The life of the party!  Insecure?
She hangs her head and sighs
knowing I know
but won’t admit it.

I wonder how many others appreciate
the challenge of facing a crowd,
the torment of small talk,
the ordeal of hours spent smiling.

However, when I am still
and listen to the hearts of others
whispering beneath the noise,
I realise
I’m not alone.

 

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