Am I jealous of people’s successes? No, it mustn’t be. I guess I just wonder if my name’s written on the waiting list. 
Is there any committee for the missing opportunities? They might have the wrong address for the delivery. 
Check your system, I am one of the good kind. Did I ever do anything wrong to upset them?

A room without something worthy of celebration, is an empty, and sad one. I am asking: is the “time to shine” afraid of me? When will it be my turn?

I am a complex sentient being, a human one, with feelings. 
I believe that I am very talented at playing life. I discovered the full range of human emotions; I guess that explain my devotion to depletion the past few decades.

I travelled, back and forth, with forth and none, just to gain a broken piece of bread. What kept me afloat? What staid true at my core during this flight? I can recall being met by realistic friendly figures, made of wax. Lent me strength, and even warmth during summer. I guess I was lacking more than vitamins, I craved love. 
Some call these candles; I call them my friends. Sometimes, when they are cold, I like to light them up. No one is like me in this world, they said in flames language. 

Measuring success is not possible with sparse and few details. Sometimes they had privileges or instead they went where most went: the path of hard work, discipline, and a thirst for a better life.
I think that generally most people worked very hard to attain their goals. 
Not all of them might succeed and only a select few will arrive to the finish line. 

I always said my mood shifts are more stagnant than the weather forecast. 

Every day I want a new thing. Something that make the circus move inside of me. Anything to entertain my entrapped self. Performances are also perceived internally, not just in stages. I love intention, but not attention. 
I am scared to ever receive an invitation to the past, that is past to mine and meet again my younger self. 

What would I tell them? I could lie to them, by feeding them illusions, way more alluring than our world. I could recite few lullabies, but that wouldn’t ease me. I might be the most shattered between the two, as I am watering a plant that believe the sun will be shining again, yet it has been decades that I don’t even remember the color of the light? It’s fine, my sight was always attuned for a darker perspective in life.

What would put them to ease? The truth? 
There is a sweet melancholy there. I am sure my younger me must prefer honesty.
Less by the voice of others, but they could hear mine. 

I would have prepared them early for what’s to come in their life, that might be a nice plan, but they might not agree to that. 
They would keep on hoping, on believing, and having a better outlook on the future of me. Are we humans that different from one to another? We all have dust on top of our box holding all of our desires, left unopened, just like our potential. Some say I am empty, but full of secrets. Not necessarily, unless you can call those taboos. 

Sometimes I am met with kindness when I am interacting with the world. 
And then I think to myself, why do people choose to save me, even with the dirt accumulating on the pearl? Can they see right through it? I’m sure they do, but why can’t I? Why choosing to rescue a fish in the depth of the sea? I am swimming just fine. People don’t know who I am. But neither do I. You think I play my part well?

Success is a visual interpretation to me. 
A cozy home, a bit rustic but its functional. A loving partner, preferably one that stand each day besides me. He would probably believe that he is with a prettier version of me, one that I don’t notice in my reflection. That I am perfect to him, for him, and that we were meant to be. 

A happy and healthy family, friends, an abundance of opportunities that make our lives more meaningful each day.
Or a reminder that everything is on its correct place, organized, and readily available. Or will be in no time. 
The bank is flowing in sync with my uncovered dreams. A dance only them they understand the rhythm. I can’t decipher it alone.

I don’t desire solely materialistic things, just a comforted mind. 
Managing my foundation, sharing my knowledge, giving back to the few that cared. 
Writing in my magazine, liberating, for what the news never deems worthy of, better outcomes. 
Curating my bespoke jewelry or handcrafted items through my brand, that I imagined, or channeled vicariously by the effervescence of my mind. 

People are patient with me, and I am learning so much from that quality alone. 
Time is money, the second currency of this world. Feeling actively valued by them while resisting old paradigms by embodying me, simply, make me feel so wealthy. Listening, understanding, and carrying, are what people do with love. Choosing love will serves us good, instead of delving into too much suffering.