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They give you a limited palette in life, with so few colors, and yet they expect you to draw a painting better than anyone else's. There are so few things I can do, and so many I can't, how can they expect me to succeed? How can they expect me to do better than those with more colours to mix?
Positively. Positively what? Wonderful? Terrible? Outrageous? I suppose it depends on the day. Heck, something could be positively charged, for all I know. But we can be sure it's not negative!
Sometimes, in autumn, the days are light and breezy, the leaves swirling about playfully. Other times, a dark shadow is cast upon the land, the wind picks up and flings a heavy layer of cold rain into your face and it feels as if each droplet were a dagger digging through your flesh, yet no blood is drawn. Then, once again, the sky is clear, and winds are merely playful zephyrs of little impact, but the ground is still sodden from the beating that was cast upon it so.
Alarmist. That's what she was. We were on the way home, those of us in the marching band, and we were all drifting to sleep after a long, tiring day. That's when she shouted so. "We got a puker!" she yelled, startling everyone awake. The problem was, nobody had thrown up. We all glared at her before turning back to our sleep.
Sometimes they seem so stupid, average folk. They don't see the things and connections I observe daily. Yet, sometimes I wish I could be like that. Be simple. Have a simple life, without seeing everything so clearly as I do. Walking through life without a care, oblivious to the world around them.
writing since 2011 · 5 entries · 5 days shown up
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