its funny we think of ourselves as compassionate people. its funny to even think for a second that humanity has come to understand itself because it hasn’t. humanity has crumbled in its best pieces. how did we think that we could merge the society and an individual together? we live for self-preservation. we are merely egocentric.
that was it. I folded the top righthand corner of the page.
ugh, how much I hated people for doing that – however, I do the exact same thing myself but not because I need an indication of where I last read off but more of a sentence on a page that tantalized my every bone. I couldn’t seem to stop. every page i flipped just seemed to be more riveting than the previous one. every paragraph unknowingly enthralled me into this world of ignis fatuus where the cookie jar contained vegetables and freshly brewed coffee was served in tiny teacups.
I managed to derive philosophical concepts from a character who had fallen out of love, desired autarky, caused several cardiac arrests and led one to hang from a rope tied to the ceiling. The stupid ceiling.
I embraced a character so flawed in every humane way. A character who failed the expectations of not just his pious uncle but of me – the reader. It is odd because even as an outsider, I have inadvertently slammed his name with a conviction of his success. The sweet freedom he ever so admired because the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence latched on. The fearless soon cut the throat of the instability and insecurity started to crawl and linger around.
It is queer because I felt it too. We live in this homogenous society – we are compelled to view it the same. He was a hopeless romantic with a phantom that the sun would finally rise from the west and not the east. He fell in love with the austere waitress that ran away with another man who could afford polished silver spoons in his daily life.
It is absurd that I could seek solace in the misery of a semi conscious, potentially successful character. The unorthodox views we shared on this tactless universe was soon enough to keep me from where I was.
Soon, it occurred to me that he did the same. He too was carrying out a conversation with substantiating content – just with a different character who was crafted in an urge to push for the realism factor that was lacking in art.
It is despondent when one page right in the middle is torn out – but it gets crestfallen when the people you care for are the ones who carry around the pocket dagger.
I fell in love with reading because the world it crafted soon became a hidden reality right in the corner of the brain. Nah, that sounded to tranquil. Let’s just say, it sparked the debate.
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