The Grand Masquerade

Welcome to my masquerade. My powder room, always locked, is full of the masks I need to make it through the day, through the night, through the ballroom. Each has its own mood, its own way of speech, and its own trains of thought. Because, really, between you, me, and the other people filling this room: I am over half of the people gathered here. I am the sunshine girl, with the yellow mask, dancing through life with a high-pitched voice, a cheerful outlook, a beautiful smile. I am that quiet woman in the dark mask, dressed in fantastic shades of black and grey you never thought would go well together, the one who looks at you out of the corner of her eyes, just watching. I am the strong, powerful presence with the mask of a simple face, the one who needs nothing because she is strong enough to stand on her own. I am the girl in the romantic red mask and dress, the one who always listens when you talk, and the one who rarely says anything that isn’t worth remembering. I am the one in the dusky blue mask and the ethereal dress, who always dances through green fields, through your dreams. I am the lady in the lace, the graceful, gracious one, who glosses over your awkward gaffes with the elegance of a ballet dancer. I am the girl in the tiger mask, who stalks through the jungle and the forest and the desert, the absolute and undeniable ruler of the wild places, and the queen of the untamable hunters. I am the warrior in the steel mask, who proudly wears her golden armor, knowing there is iron beneath. I am the thoughtful writer in the mask covered in words, never speaking, but always writing, writing, and therefore seeing beyond this world into the places beyond. But mostly, I am the plain girl, standing in the middle of the floor, the one who didn’t wear a mask, who is talking to you know. This is me, stripped of all protective masks. Maybe you have met me before. I am the girl you know well enough to be comfortable around, the one who can show you a different world, a different reality, than the one you know. This is me. Maybe one day, you will look around the ballroom and see all the people here that you are, or realize that you are one of the special people who don’t need masks, who don’t need to be anything other than what they really are. When you find out, you will come to me, and thank me, and show me, because I gave you the gift of realizing who you are. Because another one of my masks is a mirror, that goes with a scintillating dress, also of mirrors. You will meet her one day, and maybe then you will find out who you are, and who I really am.