Sometimes I wish I was normal-
just another body in the crowd,
a passing shadow
no one bothers to remember.
I want to walk through a room
without the air bending toward me,
without whispers
slipping behind my footsteps.
No phones rising like glass halos,
catching me between blinks,
freezing half-moments
into something the world can stare at.
I miss being a background blur,
a face without a headline,
a name that didn’t ricochet
through strangers’ mouths.
They call it lucky-
lights,
applause,
a thousand hands reaching forward.
But none of them know
where to hold me.
Fame is a spotlight
that hums and never shuts off,
burning through midnight,
through quiet rooms,
through the fragile hours
when a person is supposed to be small again.
And sometimes
when the crowd finally fades
and the echoes fall silent,
I stand there wondering
if anyone ever saw me at all.
I don’t want to disappear.
I just want to exist
without being watched.