I? … hmm.
They know my name.
They know my manners.
They know the version of me I handed to them.
But they don’t know—
the questions I asked,
the sunsets I witnessed,
the prayers I whispered,
the scars I erased,
all when no one was around.

And yet, some people say,
“I know you.”
I just nod.
They only know the part of me
when everyone was around.