I am hypocrite. A sad face behind a clown face.
I had watched people succeed from young age. The success stories came in different forms. One with a big mouth, outspoken; another in mute mode, struggle in silent; some, however, in between. A fine line. They were the one who broke the mold, broke the boundaries, who surfaced above water. Knew well, they would survive.
Me. I was no where to be found. Maybe once had sank deeply.
Worst, invisible.
I am hypocrite.
Never crossed my mind to have come to this day. A day when I got a morsel taste of Victory. They salute me. From their looks upon me, I feel respected, stimulated to become better each day. They WANT to be like me. They WANT to take away my Victory, and make a break for it. In their minds, they have known better of their incapability.
One part of me, I want my Victory to be recognized eventually, only by me. Because no one single soul, ever, no one human form, have known me better than I do. Another half of me, I don't want to let down everyone, anyone, who look upon me. They, who have that familiar look. The look I once thirst for.
Because no one have known me better. I have made myself a hypocrite.