Doubt

You know, I spent so long thinking maybe nothing in my life was real.  Surely everyone saw how terrible I really am, and they were playing pretend. “Yes,  Petyr, I really like that.” “You have a future.” “You’re so smart.” “I wish I could play  like that.” What if it were all lies, I would think. What if I had died the moment I was  born? So when people clapped, it hurt my ears. “They know.” And critiques were peaks  into reality. “Here you go, Petyr. Confirmation. Curtains coat everything.” You never had  faith in me. Not once did you consider me an artist. How can you be honest to someone  who lives inside a dream? How long have I been this?