Thank God the suit is flame resistant. Just think what would have happened if it weren’t? It’d probably have been singed by now. Singed by their stares. Strange how fire retardant works. Good that it does, I would do anything for that suit, the suit that makes up me, my suit. My suit is special. Do I ever wish to change it? Well, maybe, I did. But now, it’s a part of exactly what I am, who I am. It has become a transparent barrier with which light can be seen but intensity is always underrepresented. Every color and texture sewn between its threads, every fiber that makes up that fabric, I’ve unstitched to let some in and restitched to shut them out, but I always end up back at the beginning, with this same suit.
As strange as it may be, my suit is my appearance, perhaps a vice in the society we live in today. I’m not talking about weight, or size, but color. Not the color of the physical, but the color of the emotional. I wish my colors were unique. I wish I could alter those colors to reflect my every desire, mood, thought. However, wishes, I’ve been told, only get you so far. Is that true? Do wishes come true? And would I really wish for people to recognize every aspect of me?
I’m indecisive by nature, precisely the reason why I’m glad the thing is flame resistant. For every change of heart there could have been one small hole, one that grows with pull, and stays the same with resistance, but can’t fix itself. Strange it is that I want to share the old person with the world, she who remains with my old life, in my old state, with my old friends. I wish you could see that I’m not all you make me out to be. I’m not, my any means, what you think I am. Erase the picture you have drawn and allow me to reintroduce myself. I am the girl who wants nothing more than for you to see my every color.
You couldn’t count the number of threads that make up my suit. Maybe a million or so but, how many colors do you see? A couple. I wish I could reveal, even the smallest portion of who I could be, who I would want to be. Don’t they always say that to express oneself is the greatest liberation of the soul and spirit? Well, then why am I always trapped? Trapped by the way that I feel with my suit on and with it off. My personality has become as muted as the colors of my suit, sun bleached with the stare of one thousand eyes.
If only you could only see.
