This is futile; insufferable. I don’t know the name of the game I play, or the prize for the winner, but I gamble nonetheless. I’m told that it is expected that I should feel this way. Times like these are life-changing, if not a reminder that life is fleeting – and watching the love of one to another – the awareness of what I have (or don’t have) is painful. I’ll wear my singledom proud, even if it’s faux. I try to keep in mind those embroiled in companionship may look upon it with envy, but again, am I making allowances for the way that I feel? And what is the worth that I can go out and dance with a stranger knowing that I could colour the truth, play a false identity, pretend that I’m someone else? For when the murk and dirt of the dancefloor is illuminated by the beginning of the day, the invisible becomes visible. I become vulnerable to a perception based on the hue in my eyes or the colour of my skin. I scold myself for having personality. There is a reason I stand behind this wall: dare that person see the blood in my veins! That the talk is generated from a mouth! Only a fool would allow them inside, but of course I open my doors and sing out to the night that it’s “free for all, come share it with me!” And to what virtues would they relate? This breed is a dying kind, an un-lasting kind… and how unkind could the world possibly be? Surely there’s someone out there who feels the same as me!?