I walk down the hallway into my class. I am invisible, hiding under this covering I've made for myself. My own personal trench coat. People see it and run in fear. All, save very few, are fooled,and cannot see the magnificent gown underneath. A gown made of every good color of every good part of every good thing on God's marvelous earth. My gown, created of love, woven of the wind and sunshine, studded with poetry, embroidered with pain. All this they cannot see. They see only my trench coat.
Ofttimes I enjoy the hiding; the existing, the knowing, the eternal observing behind shades of indifference. Always outside, looking in upon this cold world where I now dwell, where all feign hearts of stone. Always observing from under the protection of my trench coat.
Other times, I long to cast off this hideous covering and reveal the glorious gown underneath. But if I ever try lifting even the coat, exposing even the smallest hemline--if ever I lift the mask, turn to them, and gaze into the windows of their very soul--still, they refuse to believe. The hearts, crusted in man-made stone, wish to deny that I could be any more than a trench coat and a mask.
This they may wish, yet the soul within them whispers that I, as they, am not what I seem.