From the very first days when I didnt even have a word

From the very first days, when I didn't even have a word for "loneliness," I learned to be a spectator. Not on stage, not even at its edges—somewhere far beyond all circles, behind a glass that sound couldn't pass through.
They played, paired up, pushed away, forgot. And I was always that extra white dot on the map; a place no one passes through to reach their destination—except to say, "There's nothing here."
Years passed. Patterns repeated. Every time I thought the glass had cracked, I realized the glass was me—visible only to be looked past.
Now, I no longer look for an empty seat. I've accepted that existing in this world is a form of being continuously unseen. Those who once turned their backs to leave with someone else—how dare they come back years later and say, "Remember me?" Remember what? My invisibility? My surplus in every single moment?
Am I saying I don't hate them? No, let me be honest: I hate all of them. But my hatred is no longer a flame—it has turned into an empty space, into a cold indifference.
And now, I don't let just anyone into my solitude. Unless someone can truly read me and stay. Truly stay. And maybe only one person has managed to cross that border, see the real me—and still stay :))🤍
So don't ask me to let go of that one person and return to the crowd who never even knew whether I existed or not ......