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I write.

I do that constantly and I’ve done it for as long as I can remember.

For many years I decided I would continue doing so in hiding, away from everybody’s criticizing words, invasive eyes and piercing judgment. I would write silently, in a corner; pretending I was studying for the History test I never needed to study for, pretending I was perhaps concerned with the state of the world’s affairs by keeping the newspaper clumsily folded on my desk or pretending I was reading some book when all I was really doing was to picture Rimbaud grabbing coffee by the counter while Clarice smoked outside, talking to the birds.

I’m a professional speculator, a realistic romantic. The I in mine speaks so loud to me I was coerced to believe I was wrong to feel the way I felt. To think that the things I saw and wanted to experience were a kind of misunderstanding of what will of power stood for. They led me to believe I could fly but took the parachutes off my backpack; oh boy. They sure like doing that.

How many stories like this have we heard?

Countless.

I wanted this, I saw that, I wished for this but got only that. I wanted, I hoped, I dreamed, I lost it, what I never had.

What the world lacks is nothing, because the world needs nothing and asks for nothing: the world is a perfect environment because it expects nothing from its attributes – and that’s why it thrives. Animals need nothing but opportunity and humans, the most opportunistic of creatures, learned with the world that elements struggle to stand their ground. They fight to death for territory, hope for nothing but authority because elements do not carry the world’s take on existence.

We might want to make ourselves believe we were born tyrants, hopelessly addicted to power and dominion yet, the whole world knows better. Authoritarian and starving bellies do not stand a chance on their own, the same way a tree is not responsible for a forest nor a wave can cover the whole ocean on its own.

Man, as one, is good because he or she is all they know but man amongst men is what the group dictates and the power it sustains by being heavy in heart, in body and in mind.

For fear of all, I chose to be one – in hiding. And then I chose to be one – in plain sight.

Where does one go when one is gone? No one will ever know… but I. One of these days; shall do.

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