6
“Mommy, look! He burns! They burn!”
Yes, my eyes are burning constantly — mostly of hatred. It can’t be helped. It’s just how the world made me.
But I believe, in some way, that we all burn. I wonder if there’s really a Heaven, because since we can’t live without sin, we are all accursed with that habit. Just some less. Just some less than others, than me. What this world needs?
Someone to blame.
Walking through these villages is like walking through a world of strangers. No one takes much notice of you. I wonder how much pain and love got lost there? The musician sitting there on the side of the street, playing long forgotten melodies and singing the songs in his head — he didn’t take notice of the emeralds thrown at his feet. He was staring, staring at someone I couldn’t see. For one second he looked straight in my eyes, but in the next, he fled back into his world. The girl walking through the crowd with an azure bluet in her hands — her eyes dreamy, her lips curled up in a smile, while pretending she got the flower from her beloved. I wonder if fake happiness gives satisfaction.
“You’re beautiful.”
Someone said that to me today. I didn’t know what to say. No one’s ever said that to me face to face. It looked like she understood.
“I mean … your ability to take people how they are. I think that is one of the things that really makes you beautiful.”
I do? If there is someone I don’t know too much of at all, it’s myself. If someone would ask me for a description, I wouldn’t know what to say. But one thing I do know for sure: I am not beautiful. Maybe I once was, but now I am covered in blood. But the fact I am beautiful to you made me smile for a second, when you walked away. I won’t take away your illusions. After all, what we call “our world” is just a collection of dreams, illusions, and some lack of reality.
… Or am I going crazy?
Looks like one of my strings snapped.
Yes, my eyes are burning constantly — mostly of hatred. It can’t be helped. It’s just how the world made me.
But I believe, in some way, that we all burn. I wonder if there’s really a Heaven, because since we can’t live without sin, we are all accursed with that habit. Just some less. Just some less than others, than me. What this world needs?
Someone to blame.
Walking through these villages is like walking through a world of strangers. No one takes much notice of you. I wonder how much pain and love got lost there? The musician sitting there on the side of the street, playing long forgotten melodies and singing the songs in his head — he didn’t take notice of the emeralds thrown at his feet. He was staring, staring at someone I couldn’t see. For one second he looked straight in my eyes, but in the next, he fled back into his world. The girl walking through the crowd with an azure bluet in her hands — her eyes dreamy, her lips curled up in a smile, while pretending she got the flower from her beloved. I wonder if fake happiness gives satisfaction.
“You’re beautiful.”
Someone said that to me today. I didn’t know what to say. No one’s ever said that to me face to face. It looked like she understood.
“I mean … your ability to take people how they are. I think that is one of the things that really makes you beautiful.”
I do? If there is someone I don’t know too much of at all, it’s myself. If someone would ask me for a description, I wouldn’t know what to say. But one thing I do know for sure: I am not beautiful. Maybe I once was, but now I am covered in blood. But the fact I am beautiful to you made me smile for a second, when you walked away. I won’t take away your illusions. After all, what we call “our world” is just a collection of dreams, illusions, and some lack of reality.
… Or am I going crazy?
Looks like one of my strings snapped.
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