Saturday, January 18, 2020

My glasses are hazy. Too many scratches, they say. Every totality I look at seems distant and somewhat blurred. It's difficult sometimes. But then, I also feel thankful. Thankful to be spared the sharpness of the world around. Sharp edges hurt. It's almost a refuge from distinct demarcations. Every individual, every object seems surreal...almost at the verge of fading into thin air. The boundaries are diffused. Very comforting. This experience. It spares you the trauma of registering details. You no longer complain or object. Everything is at the verge of disappearing. Very momentary. Very fragile. It's like looking around through the veil of time. Layers accumulate. So much so, that there's a feeling of security, as in a cocoon. The world doesn't know that you do not register its sharpness. You no longer feel like complaining about crap - runny or otherwise. You can transcend the factual dysentery of the world,  at will. Everything is peaceful. At the point of dissolution. You live on the margins of fact and fiction. You can belong wherever you choose to. And choosing fiction can be fun. For instance, today. In the midst of a horrid traffic, this lady walked up to me. She expressed her happiness at having seen me after such a long time. I smiled back at her. Of course without telling her that I had seen her for the first time in my no-longer-very-new span of life. We shook hands. Followed by a warm hug. She asked me at length about my family - every member of the unit being a fresh acquaintance for me. I replied to all her queries. Much to her satisfaction. And we parted. I was left wondering at the possibly hypnotic effect of my dear hazy glasses. I had become a character in her story. And lived my life in the duration of her script the way she appreciated. What is the point of disturbing another's imagination. Happiness is rare. Achieved at the expense of the sharp edges. Curtains will fall anyway. Whenever they please. With or without consent. Performance is the least we can do. At the expense of solemn facts, if you please.

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