The vulnerable cynic

I wear black on the outside
'cause black is how I feel on the inside
and if I seem a little strange
well, that's because I am

I took a walk through the crowded streets today. I do that sometimes when I'm in a certain mood, without any goal or specific purpose, just because I really want to fit in. I know I never have, but I'm trying, so as I walk among all those people I imagine the lives they're living. I try to see them as real people with hopes and dreams and family and friends, and not just as obstacles blocking my way and my view. I try to imagine that there's a pure goodness in them, that their hearts are not as hollow as I sometimes think they are. I hold my head up and try to feel like one of them, but it takes so little to throw me back. Suddenly someone isn't watching where he's going and bumps into me. Or maybe someone gives me a certain look. That's enough to break my defense, to shatter my illusion. I hate that I let it get to me but I just can't help it.

I don't know if I'm cynical or vulnerable or maybe both. Those people start watching my every step, their shadows chasing me even in the dark, and I rush back home. And now I feel like I'm on the moon, and I'm the only one who hasn't realized that the air is unbreathable.