He never really fit in anywhere. In his very large olive and brown skinned family he was pale and goofy. He learned that he was different from family pictures on the walls of his families homes. But he was the son of the Patriarch, the sequel by name. Others called him Junior but he was the Second. Destined by birth to be compared to his father. He knew he would never do that. He wasn’t his father, he wasn’t the man his father wanted him to be, he wasn’t a sequel.
He thought himself more of a spinoff of the original. Maybe he looked like him but he never saw it in the mirror. But they all say he did. So, the spinoff has some aspects of the original but it has it’s own plot line, it’s own set of characters, hoping to stand out from the original.
In his search to feel more like he fit in, he became mailable, fluid in character. He became a chameleon, able to fit into most groups and become part of them. He developed this at a very young age and has nearly perfected it. He can almost seamlessly come and go out of cliques and social circles with ease but still he knew who he was and he still hadn’t found his circle.
He still wandered in the world. Adrift on the sea of life, drifting in and out of supposed Love or what he thought Love should be. Finding a handful of friends that he could possibly call on for anything but probably something he would never test. He became utterly independent and had no idea how to accept someone else’s care without extreme awkwardness and discomfort.
So our traveler has left again a place he thought might be home only to wander the wastelands of this current time in the world. Looking for connections, but afraid to connect even though he desperately wants to find the one true connection. The one who will accept him for who he is, not for who they want him to be. The sands of time pushing against his back like an ever present wind, relentless and cruel. Still he had hope, and that is the one thing that kept his legs moving. Hope that one day, he would stare into truly accepting eyes and he would weep that day, tears that had fueled him would finally be allowed to escape and he could rest, knowing someone really loved him.
“The White Sheep” by Rio Martin
#whitesheep #fittingin #writing