Public Image, Private Life
I feel invisible. I feel overexposed.
Yunior Rivas
There’s the you that everyone sees. The one that walks into rooms and knows exactly what to say, how to wear the right expression, how to be just enough and never too much. The one that feels like armor on some days and like a second skin on others.
This you is precise, practiced, and polished. But still so real. Real in the way a photograph is real, captured and curated, leaving spectators to wonder about the whole backstory.
There’s the you that no one sees. The one that comes out in the loneliest nights, when no one is asking for anything, when the world feels far enough away to take a deep breath. The one that arrives after the spotlight dims and the last performance is long over.
This you is unmeasured, unfiltered, and unrefined. But still so real. Real in the way a painting is real, raw and rough, in bold brushstrokes that bleed through the scene.
One is necessary to survive, the other necessary to stay alive.
They pass each other like strangers in a crowded hallway. The air between them saturated with questions that neither can fully answer.
They meet in secret, these two. Which one is the imposter and which one is true?