I have spent many hours waiting
for the time to pass
for the train and the rain to pass
for me to get over my mistakes,
which I cannot erase.
Why cower?
In the corner?
* * *
When a flower is not a flower, it ceases to exist. When a wall is not a wall, it is useless. When you cannot name what you are, you can only let yourself be ridiculed by the foolish passing wind and the humming bespectacled bees. In the world of purists, I am a deformed being, and the penalties for not fitting in are so high. What to do?
At one point, I had decided that I would let myself be ridiculed; not be understood at all; even be mangled to death. What could I lose? Now is the time to renew this past resolution, now long expired, to move ahead. I would let myself be hurt. Set the default mode to: no one will understand. Indulge, my friend, in a little sentimental bath of your own selfishness. The best piece of advice ever given to mankind is: AIM LOW. Remember to aim low.
Good night.
