The Complicated Question Mark

This question haunts and shadows every thought which whirls through my mind. Sometimes, I am unaware of whether I want an answer, or depend on one for my existence. Other times, I am not so sure that I do want to know.

I hide my face quite often, for I do not want the world to know who I am. I sink into the mist of anonymity, and am quite sure that to a stranger, I have never been more than just another face on the street. It is disheartening to know that I have never been the person that people's eyes are drawn to, and that there hasn't been anyone whose gaze dances between me and the person they are having a conversation with. Or, perhaps there has been and I have been completely oblivious; why do we make it our prerogative to be so blind?

Nevermind.

I was important once to someone, and through the complicated fabric of decisions, words and looks, which took us in, scrunched us up, then spat us back out, we each got hurt. Now there are none and the blank slate we each had before has been marred. It is up to us to take those scars and turn them into something beautiful and meaningful. I learnt to never love with restrictions; it is up to me to implement that lesson in the next relationship which, if I am lucky, will occur.

The question mark is seared into my mind, no amount of meditation will make it disappear, for unresolved futures always haunt the mind. I suppose though, that the real question is not who will they be. The real question is, will I ever be able to replace the question mark with "myself"? Is any body ever really comfortable enough to do so?