Inner exile

Short text about how I try to fit in society

Normally, I wear a mask.
It allows me to live in society, to appear like everyone else. I observe them and mimic them. I match my walk to theirs, I speak like them, I laugh at their jokes even if only my face is smiling.
But when I write, I take off that mask and dive headfirst into the coldness of my soul. It’s becoming harder and harder to put it back on. It feels heavier each time, as if writing reveals me to myself, and I can no longer lie about who I really am.
Deep down, I know I can’t let them see what’s inside me. I’m a broken being, incapable of humanity or even love. I would be of no use to them if I were truly myself. So even though it’s hard, every morning, I lie to myself and put it back on, hiding my true nature behind fake smiles.