A tribute to Anthony Bourdain
Figments of My Imagination

The Unknown Parts

I know this game. I know this pain.

The people we know…
The people we want to know…
The people who want to know us.

Who we really are…
Who they want us to be…

And all the unknown parts in between.

I know this game. I know this pain.

The parts of ourselves we don’t want these people to see…
We’d block them from our own eyes if we could.
The parts of ourselves we wish everyone could see…
But the view is often limited by the lenses in their rose-colored glasses.

“If only he got some help…”

I know this game. I know this pain.

I’ve asked… It’s been offered…
Often accompanied by conditions.
Often laced with expectations.

“You need to…”
“You should have…”
“Why can’t you just…”
“If you would only…”

It’s not that simple.
Sometimes we don’t notice cracks until those people say we are broken.
Sometimes all we see is cracks… holes… imperfections… even when those people say we are flawless.

It’s not that simple.
Sometimes suffering in silence… in solitude… in the darkness… is the lesser of the evils.

I know this game. I know this pain.

I’ve never wanted to end my life…
Just end the worry… the suffering.
Release all burdens…
Theirs. Mine.
I’ve wanted to just disappear. Not to be here… but to still BE.
Just BEBE me… and BE okay.

Isn’t that what we all want?
To just BE.
And be loved anyway… even the unknown parts.

Some of us are dying to try.
Some of us die trying.

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