stranger in fiction

i've normalized, but i stopped being a person in 2019

going out these days feel like i time travelled. like i barely recognize the world. there are way more younger people, more supple skins contrasting my subtly sagging cheeks. perhaps the lockdown made a difference. everyone's lives moved forward and my lack of social media monitoring made me insulated from the pace of development.

but it's also perhaps what happened to me in 2019

i've since returned to normalcy. an equilibrium barely discernible from what could have been a projected trajectory. but i've never been the same since. i carry a quiet burden that i've kept aside. no point belaboring the drama, it's exasperating. i guess it's anti-climatic. the resolution isn't as bombastic as the climax. it doesn't fit the shape of a story. granted, it might not be fully resolved and i'm in a middling period of the narrative prior to the actual denouement.
 
maybe that's the key to feeling like a person once again.

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