Often, all we require to embrace insanity is a good push. We either resist, and believe that somehow our resilience will make it all better, somehow, we will come out of the proverbial whirlwind we have started calling our reality, or we embrace the horror we created, nourished, and often, felt proud of. Insane minds aren’t built in a day, just like Rome. It all burns, slowly, fed with one gentle gust of wind after another, one drop of fuel after another, until all that could be consumed burns into a great blaze, only to be extinguished by the sad reality of it all. Time, the great equalizer, always runs away from us.
Do you know?
The scared little boy in that corner, yes, the one with torn shirt, bruised skin, the one who is surely of a feeble mind, was once full of life. He was careless, content with all he had, all he was provided by his parents. His mother, the iron lady, his father, the lion, they were satisfied with what they provided him. Even now, in their old days, weary and torn by life, they will say, we raised a good boy. But would they know how broken is their son? Or did they always know, but somehow, as we all do, never admitted to the fault the little soul surely had?
Aren’t we all alone? Ask him, yes, the scared little boy. Ask him, before he drifts like the wind, heartbroken, without sound, or any other evidence of life, ask him, how did it all go so wrong? Where did the innocence go? When did he burned the world around him, shattered it into pieces no one can mend, ask him when did he become the villain of this story.
If you are lucky, and somehow, through all the numbness and agony, he does look at you, I would ask you to not be sacred, to embrace the cold and lifeless eyes you would never expect on someone with a gentle face like him, I would implore you to swallow your pride, and be patient through the endless drag of actions wasted. I promise you, stay there, and even if it doesn’t make sense, listen, and believe me, as uncomfortable as the silence might get, eventually, there will be a scream.
Time always runs out on us.