I retrieved one day what I had been given, and I thought I had managed to fulfil my engagement; I thought I should have remained unconcerned, and carry on with my peace and quiet, that particular peace and quiet that had made me cry for myself. With every word, I get away from my subject, this parasite that needs to be explained and done justice.
I am not lonely, nor alone; I get lonely sometimes, but only because of my traps and impediments. I just wish I would be spared a few years of my life, growing mature and... well, reaching the final state.
But still, I only do that because I am going through a mild, numb, strange experience that I cannot name, a stage that is not new, nor will it ever be, but it is considered by others extreme, super-cool and crazy.
Right, I do not need to quarrel. I do not need to be involved in an argument, because I can anticipate its leading to nothing.
I have lost myself in what I like and admire. What I adore, love and despise, that should represent me, but it kind of hides me more. That I should be asked about my feelings, without knowing how to offer the answer, that is outrageous.
But you do get me, don't you, darling?
That is why you are here, still so unreal and distant. You are here to understand my worries and wishes, in case I do not. I believe, dear, that you are the single person spared from the crowd that I have let be embraced by my bizarre misanthropy.
(Some do not even know what that is, but I should skip that part.)
But I must apologize for this statement, for this fictional action of mine; I love people, generally speaking, and I should not forget that when it is asked of me.
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