Lucy spent all of childhood all of adulthood in search of that thing. That elusive thing everyone seemed to possess except her. By everyone she meant as far as she knew, they had this sense of rightness. Nothing felt off. They didn’t feel off to themselves.

Lucy on the other hand knew everything about feeling off. “Eat your food, so many people across the world are hungry and dying from it” “Your life is so perfect, what do you have to complain about?” They said.

“Do you see the bridge of your nose when you see? Do you see which eye you favoured that very moment to see?”

They saw the same. Nothing odd. Nothing different. Lucy saw the same too but then she didn’t see it too. She didn’t see the belonging they felt, even if they didn’t fit they were misfits together. The same.

Lucy often wondered why they couldn’t just peep into her, a tube into her being and fix what was off. They knew. They must.
Lucy didn’t.


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