I wonder if, you know, this is the Internet and you could still read this? You know who you are? But if so, I hope you don't read this. Out of respect for me. And just life. And everything, because here's what I thought:
It's like Daisy Buchanan, and that's the only thing I could thing of at that moment, was Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby. Odd, huh? It's like all the movies made sense for a moment, and nothing that happened was weird... it was, in fact, perfectly normal, but I thought a lot about it. I wondered a lot about why and how and the WHAT. The WHAT was really present and strong. I could have stayed for hours, and when it ended, I wished I had. I wished and I replayed and relayed in my head how things happen in my world, and they are so different. But what good would come of it? Life would return to normal; the most I would get is a harder slap in the face of separation and hidden... hidden. But I'd be human, so human that I wouldn't speak. I don't know why the hell I'm here, or why you're here, or why we don't talk, or why we should or shouldn't; I really don't know much. Maybe you think I do or maybe you think I don't, but I don't. I JUST MISS THE FEELING OF READING SHAKESPEARE. My mind is a rattling rusty cage, and you don't belong there, I can't stick you there or keep your semblance in there, ever. You belong to freedom, and it's all passed, but, my God, how these things do drag on. The days just bleed all over the concrete sidewalk in my mind; here, there, I feel it red and wet but I'm alive for it. The feeling of reading Shakespeare and developing a friendship and having an open window on a warm night by moonlight is the most beautiful feeling in this entire world; to read Midsummer, to dream and to watch and to be fully human and alive. I loved it, and I love it now. I don't know why I like life so much; it's a really abstract thing. I don't know why it's my favorite thing in the world... It's better than food or love or talking or music. Life is just my favorite thing in my life, and I don't know why.
