#msaki

Via Darren's Instagram Story (March 9th, 2025)

Wszyscy ubieramy maski, każdy z nas ma ich komplet,

Każdy z nas inaczej zachowuje się przy znajomych i rodzicach, nigdy nie jesteśmy identyczni,

Prawdziwymi sobą jesteśmy tylko wtedy, gdy siedzimy sami se sobą w pokoju, to jesteśmy my, nikt inny tylko my, bez maski,

Ubieramy maski, często kogoś kim nie jesteśmy, chowamy emocje, by nie martwić otoczenia,

Często ubieramy maski by dopasować się do grypy, zastanawiałeś się kiedyś nad tym jaką twarz przybierasz, czesto nieświadomie?

Powiedz mi ile razy zdarzyło Ci się szydzić z kogoś, naśmiewać bo inni tak robili,

Ile razy zgrywałeś twardziela, bojąc się jak małe dziecko, bo przecież nie możesz pokazać, że jesteś słaby,

Ile razy zgrywałeś skurwysyna, żeby zbudować sobie tak znienawidzoną przez ludzi opinię kobieciarza, ale ta sama sprawa tyczy się też nas kobiet,

Tak naprawdę wszyscy jesteśmy kłamcami, bo nie pokazujemy swojej prawdziwej twarzy, często okłamując samych siebie, bo po prostu nie akceptujemy tego kim tak na prawdę jesteśmy,

Często szukamy kogoś kto zedrze z nas wszystkie ich odsłony, pokarze kim jesteśmy i nauczy nas, że wcale nie jesteśmy tacy źli, jak siebie sami postrzegamy,

Zagubieni czekamy na kogoś kto nas odkryje, bo sami nie wiemy już kim jesteśmy,

Czekamy by ktoś spojrzał w zaszklone oczy, a nie sztuczny uśmiech, by przytulił i powiedział "Jestem tu dla Ciebie",

Czesto przez to się gubimy, zatracamy swoją osobowość, by obudzić się nagle z tego snu posród mgły, zagubieni jak dziecko w supermarkecie,

Błądzimy, bo nie wiemy która z masek jest prawdziwa, choć to nie maska lecz nasza twarz to odzwierciedlenie naszego wnętrza,

Patrzymy w lustra, które pękają bo często nie dostrzegamy w nich nic co dawały nam te cholerne maski,

Więc zastanów się, przejdź się po dolinie swojej duszy, dalej niż do tej pory i sprawdź, czy nie należysz do loży szyderców, którzy oszukują siebie i społeczeństwo,

Polecam też kupić nowe lustro, by w odbiciu, patrząc sobie samemu w oczy, odnaleźć siebie.

You have been having aspirations for so long Cross the bridge and come over It’s been a while since you are having those goals Cross the bridge, and come over

We grew up together Dreaming of heavens Sun gazing (sun gazing) Come let me remind you Life hasn’t stopped

There will never be no one like you Like you, they will never be There will never be one like you There is no one like you

Open your eyes and look Even though it is not easy The birds are awake Life does not stop Your skills And your talents They are not perfect Life does not stop

They will light up your way the Sun will rise Sunrise (sunrise) Let me remind you Life does not stop

There will never be anyone like you Like you, they will never be There will never be one like you There is no one like you

January 1, 2019 1:55am

Barcelona, Spain

To You –

I walked through an alley just an hour after midnight, after hurling bottles at the fountain at Placa de Catalunya, after drinking what felt like vats of cava and after eating grapes from strangers hands, after learning just enough Italian to sing along with the patriotic men who found cheap flights to Spain, and I walked by a bar that had no cover, no smokers outside to give me a headache, and no obvious threat of being pickpocketed, and all I could feel was the beat vibrating through the plastic window on the door. My reflection on that plastic was warped, but I still needed a haircut. I walked inside. Nothing dramatic about the way I walked in. Nothing I’d talk about over dinner, but something I’d share with you when our walls are down, in those hours before working to build them up again. I’d tell you how my body surrendered and I created a dance floor where a woman waited for her Negroni. It was the music.

My body has implored for water, for touch, for release, but never for a song. It moved without me until I admitted how bad I needed it. I needed something to zone out to. I needed something to pacify my temperance and numb my feet. I wanted to rid my mouth of the bad taste the cava left. It was the music. It pulled me in. Remember the second time we met? Remember that pull? Remember how we’d pull each other until we acquiesced to the impossibility of being closer? It was the music. I stood in front of the DJ with my eyes closed and my head moving slower than the beat and he saw me, and he played the whole song. You used to play whole songs for me.

More than any other need on that dance floor, I needed to tell someone about you years ago. To tell someone how dangerous it is to be loved by you. Odysseus had his men. Tonight, there was no one to tie me to a mast. No one offered me wax to put in my ear. Instead, I foolishly fell in love with the sound on the other side of a bullshit door and stood there like a fool, dancing slowly. Just before the song ended, I asked about the sirens. And there you were, hanging on to that part of my brain that makes me most human. I shouldn’t have asked the DJ about the song or singer, stopped at the bar, kept you away from everyone I knew, let you tell me you love that second time, given you my number, or ever listened to that Sade song that made me ask who was spinning that night in that bar. There you were, spinning.

It was the music tonight, the lyrics, me remembering you playing that very song for me the last time I sat next to you in a tight space, playing with your thumb, examining everything new on your face because nine months is a very long time. And the DJ played it to the end and I let him, knowing exactly how I’d feel when it ended. I knew whatever he played next wouldn’t keep me. I knew I needed to get back to write this letter to you before I pissed out the cava and before the wistfulness, like you, left.

I walked to the train. I didn’t care about picked pockets, the souring taste now sitting in my throat, the wetness on my eyeglass lenses, or the man staring at my hand not as close to his wife’s purse as he probably imagined. I thought about that time - that second time you told me you loved me – and how I told you I was in love with you and nothing else.

I still love you.

Darnell Lamont Walker