Fake

A big part of me doesn’t want this pandemic to end

I don’t think I’m ready to take off my mask and let people see me—blemishes and all—and find out what I actually look like

I don’t even remember what my face is like without a filter—

         (I don’t want to be reminded)

I don’t remember what it feels like not to live my day from one meeting to another, finding solace in between the hours where I get to turn-off the camera and vanish for a while

I want to hide forever; behind a mask, a camera, it doesn’t really matter. I just want to hide

I’ve been rummaging my closet for oversized clothing for the past couple of weeks—

        (It’s been difficult. I’m huge. I didn’t know I took so much space)

Hiding...I should’ve trained myself to be better at this. It’s quite handy especially since I’ve grown quite fond of not being perceived

I want to be the type of person no one remembers—

      (This one’s easy. There’s nothing particular about me for people to notice)

I share too much on social media for someone who doesn’t want to be perceived or remembered. I’m quite aware of the irony. But

but I’m pretty with filters

I’m quite funny too

or atleast I find myself funny, and that matters too, right?

But everything about me is fake—

an illusion I’ve created for my sake because I like how my face looks like when everything is filtered