I don’t know where I belong, and I don’t know who I belong to. Usually, this would be easy to answer. Wherever you are would dictate who you belong to, and reversely, whoever you’re with dictates where you belong. But does it?
I am at my parent’s house, so I belong to them. No. I am not their child – not completely. I inherited their flesh and blood, their genes, and a few bad habits that I’ll have to wean myself off of. In my mentality, however, they seemed to not raise me. I can’t see the touch of their thoughts or ideology upon my personality. If you stood us three side by side, soul by soul, it would be as though we were different species. I do not belong with my parents, so I don’t belong in this house.
I am confining myself to a mental prison. It’s a place to be alone with my subconscious. Make friends with it and ask if what it thinks of me. If I am in my mental prison, do I belong to my subconscious? No. Subconscious me is warden to conscious me. For now it may be watching over me, telling me who I can talk to, what I can do, and where I will go, but I always break free. I don’t call my mental prison home. I don’t belong with my subconscious, and I don’t belong in my mental prison.
I am in my daydream, fantasizing about a life with him. In dreams we mesh perfectly; in life we’re rubbing against the grain. I am in my fantasy, so do I belong to this man? Don’t force me to say no. I look for way to belong – to stake my claim and make myself fit. But all the while, I see him inferring it silently; you do not belong with me, and you don’t belong in your fantasy.
I don’t know where I belong, and I don’t know who I belong to. Should I just stop searching for it?