Me.

I am a simple person.

I strive to be the best. Perfection.

I am dedicated. Strong. Proud.

I am smart. Beautiful. Joyous.

Me.

I am an intricate person.

I long for rest. Tranquility.

I am tired. Exhausted. Forlorn.

I am mediocre. Tolerable. Distressed.

Me.

I put on a facade, like new paint on a old house.

Between the battles, I long for a break.

I am weary and fatigued.

I, however, do not let that seep to the uppermost layer.

Me.

What would they think of Me?

I am the face of it all. The entirety.

I am the supporter. The optimist. The paraclete.

Me.

But am I?

They cannot see me as my weary self.

I must be enduring. Mighty. Sturdy.

Only a few more weeks. Months. Years.

Right?

Me.

If only, they saw the all consuming exhaustion within.

The cessation is on the horizon.

Maybe then. Maybe.

The curtain can fall to reveal Me.

Simple. Intricate. Me.