The night before \i had been attacked by a flood of fragments of perspective. pieces of time convinced that there was nothing more than their maps, convinced they had to destroy what they saw of me to survive.\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\i suffocated myself inorder to keep love alive. I was walking around the town the next day and people were out in droves. They looked happy and carefree, enjoying the sunlight and laughing together. They were laughing at me. I realizedc I was at my own funeral. Apparently I was blind, or so they kept saying. This was supposedly a negative trait, and one to be poked fun of - but it was their actions that had led to whatever it was they perceived me to be. I had made sure to stay out of the way, tried to make myself, tried to understand why, but they had followed me in.
Some ginger guy sat next to me on the stairs. He poked fun at me too, when I was walking home, he walked behind me playing a flute. He'd intentionally done it to bother me. I asked him to walk in front of me. He did, but complained it was too dark if he walked in frontof me.
Somebody once wrote a story about me that attempted to subvert my intelligence in this style. It worked I retain little intelligence. I don't know about the value of things but it was something I valued, along with trust, relationships and time. Let's assume fighting is not a constructive use of it. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to sleep now.
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