There are people that ravel in everything the world has to offer. They dare not blink as to not lose a word, a sound, a color. I find there is some strange despair in them. These people that cannot share a moment of comfortable silence. That never wonder how the world functions and why. That dare not speak the names of things that bother them. That know no stories but their own.
I sometimes think that to look at them is to look at the sun. To see these blinding rays of light that burn my eyes. With the same frustration the ancients must have looked at the universe without being able to understand it. I know something is terribly wrong with this so called intelligent life. I always knew somehow but I hid this from my mind. Now, in the face of an implacable future this travesty of evolution seems undeniable.
With age, I feel further and further away from this race. As if I'm gently slipping into something else, as I would into a warm bath. I feel myself filled with the tragedy of this world. At times I nurture a disdain for everything we have created. I loathe language because it gives birth to a flood of sounds that echo between the walls of idiocy. I scorn the ideas, the habits, the religions of this world. I find them petty and useless, just like their possessors. I am no longer impressed by narrow drama, nor do I wish to hear of it.
There is order in indifference. In silent arrogance. I must take shelter in my own thoughts and suffocate my time with work lest I'll be swept away by a flood of madness. There is no escaping the cruel grip of reality. We are inexorably alone and there can be no other face in the mirror but that of resignation. But maybe time will prove wrong.
In the end, what do I know? I might very well be just a little girl that lost her mind.
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