And I cannot help but wonder what is it all about. Like the yellow line that escapes from under me, the more I reach out to grasp it, the more I see of it behind and ahead of me. There is almost a sense of delicate beauty about it. Something like, you just keep going, as long as you can pretend, as long as you can hope, that there is a destination at the end of it. But I do not even know whether I am running away from or towards it. The funny thing is, I know, I just do not want to see the obvious.
Seeing the obvious takes the element of class away from you, it strips every thread of fine livery that ever adorned you. It puts you down on earth, vulnerable, susceptible and gullible, to every little breeze that ever touched the surface of the life of mere mortals, all flesh and no skin. It hurts, does it not? To be that vulnerable. To feel each and every miniscule thing to that degree. So then, why should anyone look up to the mirror and analyse the person you see like you analyse the others?
As long as it remains my treasured weakness, my most valued secret, why should it bother me? It is only I who needs to know it, why should I shout it to the whole world? Maybe I need to convince myself of my own ordinariness? Maybe I only like to believe that I admit it and like everything else I am nothing but a show, a play of 12 months of carefully constructed acts woven together thorough seamless scenes spread over pages numbered in weeks. I do flatter myself, only to deceive.
But is there really something beyond all the show? There must be something right? How can so many people live life as they live if it cannot be? Every love cannot be all that ordinary, all relationships cannot be fake. There must be more to things than just conditional attachment or unconditional detachment. What is the golden key to that secret lock? What is it that makes you believe? What keeps you going? What is there in you that I do not have in me? What am I missing out on?
The problem with the obvious is that it is solely dependent on the validity of one's judgement and mine is hopelessly jaded in a million different ways. I cannot often make out if what I believe in is what I really believe in or if it is some convenient assumption that makes my day a bit easier. I am so hopelessly lost most times that I can even laugh about it. Can I point at my own face and ask you, "Have you seen him somewhere?". Now you see why I can laugh about it. Join in, we can make one merry gang.