Shadow of me- short stories

Shadow of me 

Surprisingly, the night was not cold for the month of February. I was slowly walking down the stairs of the railway station. The streetlights reflected my shadow on the wall. 
The shadow mimicked me and around it words started to burst in all directions. Then so, they organized themselves. My shadow told me "The best thing about life is that every second,  day in, day out, all the while, you can just restart your life and be whatever you want to be” 
I thought about writing it down before the sentence disappeared, as the streetlights started to fade. Never mind, writing it down would make it seem so cheesy. Everything that I write seems cheesy. 
Back in the day, I was at a point where I was not sure if I liked my nationality, my language, my culture, the people around me. I wondered what was stopping me from being anything else.
It is not that I wanted to be something else, I wanted to be something more. I needed more, because I was a shadow, superfluous.  
The annoyance, I could not sleep well at night. I was never fully there when it was too dark. I appeared and disappeared with the light, grey, apathetic.
 I feared articulating that out loud, as if I were offending myself, betraying.
Thereupon, I promised that I would never let anyone live my life for me. That was the scariest and bravest decision I ever made. It took me a while to get there.
I felt like I was cursed by the ghost as grey as my shadow. Like being a prisoner of your own self, just because you could not figure out right away who you wanted to be. You become something else, something wrong, but still your shadow.
 I stopped being so hard on the shadow. 
To start from scratch in the next years, I learned a new language in a new country. I adapted my personality to that language and I felt more fulfilled with that version of myself. I decided that I would be a smoker and that I would spend more money on concerts. I liberated my body, two or three tattoos on my arm. Astonished, I started believing in God. 
 The kitchen cabinets on the right would have glassware and the ones on the left I would use to store food. My house, my rules. Some boys, I would pay for their coffees in a coffee shop at the corner near the rail station. 
Yet, walking down the stairs of the railway station, taking pictures with my camera, calmly looking through the camera’s small window, smiling naturally, trying to shoot my shadow on the wall, I thought of my old me, walking down the stairs, side by side, that grey figure and all the people that unfortunately only got to know her, a shadow of me.

Mia Sátyro

TCC- Creative Writing Faculdade de Letras da UL