Let me be honest, at least once. There was a time I was invited to a party where they told me to be myself… but no one mentioned I was supposed to bring my own mask.

I can be the shoulder you collapse on, or the reason you forget your sorrow for a moment. If they ask for a role, I’ll play it flawlessly. Anyone they desire… so long as it is not myself.

To tell the truth, I am disorder pretending to be composed. A fool rehearsing intelligence. The fraud standing quietly among them while they mistake silence for certainty. But that secret was buried into me long ago… never let them see the cracks.

I have worn countless faces, because the one beneath them was never worth showing. Deception became effortless after a while. At some point, even my smiles, my words, my existence itself… all began to feel like carefully performed lies and became frighteningly skilled at appearing calm… as if I were not living every moment balanced on the edge of a blade.

I spend most of my life with the quiet sensation of sinking… watching everyone move forward while I disappear further behind them.

A pretender by nature. Deception was woven into me long before I understood what honesty meant. So tell me… what kind of person would make you comfortable? I will become them flawlessly, learned how to become the perfect imitation of their expectations… a carefully crafted version of myself designed only to satisfy the eyes watching me.

What else can I tell you? I am an impostor wearing human skin convincingly enough to survive. But perhaps that is why suffering exists… hell has a peculiar way of repairing what it destroys.

So I will ask you once again, just one last time… tell me who you need me to become, and I will do it without hesitation. That, at least, is honest.