You are arrogant and smug and that makes you foolish.
I am arrogant in thinking you are a fool.
You may think you’ve won, and you may get what you want, but what you don’t realize is that you and I are playing by a different set of rules. You and I don’t measure success with the same ruler.
You sit there looking at me with that greasy smile on your plastic face. You look in my eyes and you think you know what I’m thinking.
What you don’t know is even if you are right, you are wrong.
Eyes are windows into our souls. But you can’t understand what you are seeing, if you don’t have one of your own. I look into your eyes, and I see the soul of a puppet. A puppet who doesn’t realize he is a puppet, and has no desire to be a real boy.
You assume you know what I am doing, and you assume that I am doing what I am doing for the same reason you would do what I am doing, were you in my place.
You’re assumptions are false. I am not like you. I have different goals and different motives. I have no desire to have greasy hair, plastic skin, a bitter twist to my lips or an ever-present arrogant condescending tone to my voice.
You ask me pathetic, shallow questions off of a paper that someone else copied, a page from a document that someone else wrote, plagiarized from a book inspired by another book that was based on a story told over and over across generations, a story that was once part of someone’s life, and loss.
If you are even aware of the idea of the original story, you think the questions are the only worthwhile things to come from it.
What you don’t know is that original book dissected the story and put it back together, leaving out some parts and adding new ingredients in.
The second book stole a few bits of the first, twisting them, and diluting them with catch phrase drivel, designed to sell but devoid of value.
The document raped the second book, capturing and torturing lines and letters, while destroying any remaining spirit and soul that may have been left.
You sit there, reading one stolen piece of the devastated wreck of a narrative, and you think you know the whole story, heart and soul.
You know nothing. You have power, and that makes you think you are in control. You think you can decide my fate, my future. You think you can punish me, take away everything I hold dear, make my life miserable.
You can take things away, but you can never take away my thoughts. You can force me into a cage, but you can never cage my dreams. You can destroy all my possessions, but you can never destroy my hopes. You can control where I go and who I see, but you can never control what I feel.
The world inside me is bigger than the fragment of the world outside me that you allow me to experience.
What you don’t realize, what you are too blind to see, is that you are living in a cage, even as you force me to live in one. Your possessions, your life, are not your own. You are just too narrow-minded to know it.
The world inside of you is nothing more than a broken, incomplete reflection of the dark and stunted world you help twist and repress. And you think you are the enlightened one, living in an enlightened world.
In the end, you control nothing. In the end, our fates are the same.
The universe will eventually grind you and all those like you into dust. All of your glorious accomplishments will crumble before a single flap of a single butterfly’s wings.
My time will end as well, the universe will treat me no differently than you. We aren’t dissimilar enough for that.
The difference is that you will be surprised by death, and die screaming and cursing your downfall. I will greet death like an old friend, and die knowing that life and death are simply part of one big cycle. You will die full of regrets. I will die with peace in my heart, knowing I was true to myself, to the end.
You are a fool for assuming you and your self-proclaimed civilized society will last forever.
And I am a fool for assuming that I know how it will end.
For both of us, our assumptions satisfy the hunger in whatever remnants of souls we have remaining.