You can't paint a pigeon pink and call it a flamingo.

Hello... It has been some time...
I've missed you, I've missed sharing my life with you... I've missed our conversations... 
I've missed that greatest self... The self that was sacrificed in your presence... And now I've neither that nor you. 

Having changed so much.
Changed into someone who never was before recognised... 

Accepted the reality of nothingness, nothing more or less than any, 
No one to see, barely being, 
 not much to offer,

Just disconnect and loss of sense of self.

Once an embraced illusion of depth of mind,
Fake imagery, false persona,
All becoming blind.
But in matters of reality

The raw realness of it all...
The vulnerable and less exciting version.
Underneath the disguise of a flamboyant flamingo standing out among a flock of fleeting pigeons,
Only to discover that you can't paint a pigeon pink and call it a flamingo.
You can't sellotape peacock feathers to a turkey and call it a peacock. 

Yet dye my hair mad colours and wear wacky clothing and immediately people think of a passionate creative socialite.

 Braid in various colours of wool and people immediately assume some hippy or gypsy type. 

Being not. Just another human.
Neither of the conformist nor the nonconformist.
Neither good nor bad.
Not the softest of individuals but then again Not the hardest.

The big meh.

Neither here nor there.
And that is that.

Could always be worse.
Could have been someone...
Sounds like an awful lot of responsibility.