Under the Table

I like to hide sometimes. Not like children do, because I like it best when people aren’t even looking for me. It’s not a game anymore, and I am not a child anymore.

The more people, the noisier, the greater my urge to take a few steps back. To dissolve into some shadow.

Those moments, with lots of people and lots of their chattering, I don’t want to leave completely. Like a kid on a party will all grownups, I love being there and just observe. To hide underneath a table, so I can still hear everybody talk. See them sit and move, without them knowing – or caring – I am there. Okay, maybe a little like a child.

The best part is nobody ever seems to notice me gone. They just go on and on with their silly conversations. Laughing, shouting or whispering. Saying nothing important at all, they just seem to talk to fill the silence.

Witnessing that feels almost like eavesdropping. But it’s not. It’s a way to feel part of something I really can’t be part of.

I like to sit on the social sidelines like that, one foot on the playing field, one in silent solitude, watching the game like an anonymous member of the audience. Shifting my balance from one foot to another, in and out, as time passes.

Those who know, who understand or just let me be are the ones I hold dear. They accept it’s the best I can do, and do not think less of me for it. Like they would of a child, probably.

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