Dear Stranger, I Carry Two Worlds Inside Me

My Dear Stranger,

I carry two worlds inside me,

and neither of them feels small.

One world is visible.

It knows how to speak, how to show up, how to survive.

It answers emails. It keeps promises.

It learns the language of rooms, the rhythm of crowds,

the unspoken rules of being acceptable.

This world smiles when it should.

It nods. It adapts.

It does what must be done.

This world keeps me alive.

But there is another world. Quieter. Heavier.

A world that does not ask for permission to exist.

It lives behind my ribs,

where feelings arrive without warning

and truths do not come with explanations.

In this world, I feel too much, too fast, too deep.

Time stretches. Silence speaks.

A single glance can undo me.

A moment can echo for years.

This world does not care about schedules or logic.

It speaks in intuition, memory, ache, and longing.

It carries questions without answers

and answers I am not allowed to say out loud.

Living between these two worlds feels like tearing in opposite directions.

In one, I am expected to be strong.

In the other, I am already exhausted.

In one, I am “functioning.”

In the other, I am barely holding myself together.

Some days, I switch worlds so smoothly

no one notices the cost.

Other days, the border cracks,

and everything leaks through—

the sadness, the knowing, the weight of things unseen.

People tell me to choose one.

To be practical.

To be grounded.

To stop drifting.

But they don’t understand,

these worlds are not choices.

They are inheritance.

They are a purpose.

They are me. who I am.

If I abandon the outer world, I disappear.

If I silence the inner one, I die slowly.

So I walk the line.

A quiet negotiator between survival and truth.

Between who I am expected to be,

and who I actually am when no one is watching.

There are nights I wish I belonged fully to just one.

To live without this constant translation.

To rest without guilt.

To exist without explanation.

But maybe,

this is the work of my life.

my path.

my identity.

To carry both worlds without letting either destroy me.

To learn when to speak and when to protect my silence.

To survive without betraying my soul.

My Dear Stranger,

So if you ever meet me and sense something fractured and distant,

something layered, something unsaid, unfocus,

this is why.

I am not broken.

I am not confused.

I am not lost.

I am simply living in two worlds at once,

and learning—slowly, painfully—

how to breathe in both.

With quiet honesty,

Your Stranger,

Vie