ok I’m ready now to be reasonable. I really need to forget. How does one go about it, this complete erasature of an entire inner world of intense love! What am I really supposed to do? Why is it supposed to hurt?
No one ever showed me they believed in me. Not in my extraordinary sights and mind and imagination, nor my music or art, nor my writing or linguistic lush, nor creative bursts and inner songs. To them, my ways always have been goober, overly emotional or just mediocre. They react in the way you pat the head of a child.
Jesters tend to provoke more attention, but I can’t approach the world that way. So I get overlooked.
And I struggle to build up enough of my own belief and reliability. But often find I am content enough to live inside forever and never go out and change the world. I am happy with the small simple things and being alone, never making a grand alteration to humanity, never being famous. I don’t expect thousands or even hundreds to show up at my funeral. And this is totally ok with me.
It’s all so much better as a secret. At this point I’ve built up too much expectation. I don’t think I can handle disappointment. I can’t handle not being fulfilled with what is not there.
It will be like that phantom stair you think is there and you raise your leg and bring it down only on that jarring feeling of plunging through empty space.
No comments:
Post a Comment