Two years and four months of being called Wayne instead of Nico, simply because in France they find it’s more chic and stylé.
Two years and four months of making and losing friends. Still trying to find my way while pretending to know where I am going. Making mistakes I promised myself never to repeat. Desperately fearing the future and still running from my past. Living on loop. Considering a magnitude of options and choosing none.
Two years and four months older and still comparing my happiness and my success to that of others. Feeling insecure and uncertain. Feeling abandoned and unloved. Feeling deprived and cheated. Feeling unique and indispensable. Feeling proud and courageous. Feeling adored and desired.
Two years and four months of feeling like a powerless king. A dying phoenix. A flying chicken. An unworthy priest. Endless possibilities with so little hope. Wrestling to find balance. Wobbling in extremely high heels and teetering on the brink of breaking my ankle and ruining everything.
Two years and four months since I have not felt the pressure to live up to anyone’s standards all while bleeping out the best and most exciting moments of my life .
Two years and four months of resuscitating an image of me that is not true. Of falling in love and keeping it a secret and then falling in love again.
It has been two years and four months since I’ve missed Jamaica but be assured that I’m living my best life. If you say I’m not happy I know you’re lying.
Oh *bleep* it’s already been two years and four months!