Distressed and distraught I write, a persona quite different than the others.
But this is me being real.
(Masks are grafted to the history of humanity. One could not count them, concrete or abstract.)
I have them, I wear them.
Actors, comedians, liars, thieves, pastors, sisters, mothers, soldiers...
One could not count, not by everyone's hands.
Yet, it is by everyone's hands that we feel the need to wear masks in the first place.
I am asking myself where the beauty is in this situation, the beauty I supposedly always find.
Oh, I've found it.
You're reading it.
You want specifics?
Take off your mask and read again.