Tree showing what delusion is End looks on ground But is in the depths, you can never reach Iceberg showing what delusion is A small piece of ice above Is giant down there, one can ever think Eyes showing what delusion is Alluring on front But deeper one moves, reaches into labyrinth Humans showing what delusion is Easy on face But more you know the brain, The more you fall into endless pit
I have seen you being the life of countless parties, gatherings, what-nots. I've seen people look at you, talk to you, talk about you, get awed by your confidence, infected by your gurgling laughter which was always funnier than the joke (always!). I've seen you stand at the podium and take a crowd of hundreds by storm.
I've seen you single-handedly handle disasters not many would dare delve their toe into. I've seen you do it for yourself and I've seen you do it for the ones who need it and can't. There's so much I've seen you conquer, so many feathers added to your crown but then everyone has, haven't they? At least that's what they choose to believe and you let them.
I've seen every person you spent more than an hour talking to, assume that they knew everything possible to know about you. I've seen you allow absolute strangers and age-old friends be gulled into thinking that you are an open book, that you're just as much as meets the eye and, in your case, the ear (because of course, the extrovert in you talks too much when he/she is in control). I remember someone asked you once why you let everyone believe that when it is far from the truth, when they didn't have any idea of half the person you were. I remember the look you gave them as you shrugged as if in nonchalance and feigned a laughed. "And what makes you think they are deluded. What makes you think there's more to me?" When they said that it was obvious and that anyone who cared to notice would see that you're like an iceberg and people only see the part of you that you allow them to. I will never forget how vulnerable your eyes grew as you faltered, as the mask slipped away for just long enough for them to see that they had been right, that there was so much more than you let on before you realised what had just come to pass and looked away, waving your hand to dismiss their ideas as ludicrous. "You think too high of me. I better put you on the list of prospective people who are going to write my eulogy." And you hid behind a joke, like you always did.
You are strong, almost too strong for your own good. You never tell people how you take days off from work just to go some place and be on your own, how socializing- the thing you excell at- wears you down and you need to unwind when it gets too much, how you write under a pseudonym because you have an image to live up to and you refuse letting people know that you're so vulnerable, how you never really tell anyone how damaged you are, much less talk about what or who damaged you, how you are everybody's favourite yet have so few people you consider as your friends, how you are everyone's confidante yet you only had a handful of people you trust enough to confide in, how only those trusted few know there is so much the others have no clue about. You are enigmatic without them knowing it and that's just part of your beauty, your charm.
I know what you go through, how tiring the act gets sometimes but I know you won't change it for the world because you refuse to abide so you let them believe what they want- extrovert, introvert- to each his own. You let them believe whatever they choose to because you don't care about labels, you have too much on your plate to concern yourself with such trivialities and I wholeheartedly agree.
Do you know how I know you so well? Because, love, I am an ambivert too.