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'kates' the words she never says


A singular person is multiple things, it is psychologically impossible for us to be just, one, thing. Humans are complex, ever-changing and evolving. But what do I know?
              I’m just some nobody who is constantly thinking about things that can never be.

I know that there’s kate, me, there’s the kate that listens to music in the dark thinking about what she will do tomorrow and the next day and the next day…and the next, and kate who will always go back to listening to my favourite 80’s anthems, wishing she could have seen the people she adores so much.
              Who’s to say we can only be one person? Confined to the physicality’s of the world.
There’s the kate who will forever want to be an actress, or an astronaut and live in space, or or, the kate that wants to be really smart and reads Stephen hawking in hopes that one day she’ll be a theoretical physicist. The one who wishes she could write like Jane Austen and John Green and Sally Rooney. The one who wants to become a detective or the one that thinks she’ll move to Europe and become an enigma to the people who once knew her.
                             There’s also the kate that knows none of this will ever happen. The pratical one, the one that lives in the real world rather than her dream one. The one that knows she will probably end up doing something dull and meaningless and forever regret not following her dreams.

Kate who loves the piano and will forever dream of owning one, and playing for people, swaying her head to the beautiful sounds she creates. The kate who knows she can’t sing but will forever imagine herself standing beside her idols and expelling air with melodies of love.
              I think i…
                                           The kate who loved words so much she could go on for hours about why a writer did this or that and how, who now doesn’t know what happened to that love?
Where did you go?
                                           Or maybe she just found her itch, found she can write out the sadness in people, weird un-uniformed words coming together in an artistic manner trying to make sense while becoming all the more a mystery.
The kate who hates everything she writes and wishes she could burn digitally uploaded words, her own worst critic. The kate who knows, I know, that people will read this and think, yet another tragic girl complaining about her life. The kate who knows barely anyone will read this, and yet she will keep trying and trying.
                                           The kate who sometimes wishes she could just give up her words instead
                                                          Of always hating them.
The kate writing this right now, letting the thoughts and emotions flow out of her onto one big digital page full of wishes and dreams and what ifs and what nots and I wish and maybe tomorrows, who feels like her mind is either running 100 miles per hour or not working at all.
                                                          The one who…

The me. Always me

                             Who are you?
 How many sides do you have?
 Is there sad or happy or both?
 Are you hopeful?
 About what?
Do you see now what I mean? You are
never one thing, but rather a dimensional
character of lots of things.
         
        Never let them tell you different.                              

                                                              Promise?

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