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this isn't really a story... neither is it done

     People assume that, because I look the way I look, or because I act the way I act; I am who they want me to be.  Who do they want me to be?  Would it be so bad?  Think what they want me to think, give my mind a rest.

     Rest.  It would be nice.  Forget about the past, the future, the present.  Forget about him; about everything.  To clear my mind from all the dangerous thoughts that stroll in and out through the empty parts of the day.

     Control me.  Please.  Make me who they want me to be.  Make me who I should be.

     I stray from reality.  From thought.  From all imaginable places.  I am no longer where i belong.

     Or perhaps it's quite the opposite.