Chicken pox

There is the wish of understanding... or shutting up.

It was not a metaphor. It was just a narrative of how is being sick. Narrating the fact is something mechanical. Metaphors exercise the brain, develop creativity, instigate curiosity. The implicit can be more exciting than the explicit.

Writing relieves. It is a way to get rid of what makes us restive. A lot of times it helps more than a transparent conversation. We talk to ourselves. We are not naive to believe that an agreement head move means that there is empathy or total comprehension. There is the wish of understanding... or shutting up. It is a monologue and only us are those who can understand it.

Screaming is unhelpful because everybody screams at the same time than you. When you throw a flare to the sky, you get disappoint when you know you have done this on January 1st at the midnight. There is a hope that someone notices your S.O.S. signal within the tsunami of egocentric and worthless information. Do not count on it.

We should be sleeping, we have an appointment tomorrow morning, but we are here hearing about a horse race on snow at BandNews while we write. The stomach complains of hungry. We neither have the desire of sleeping nor the worry of being tired all day long. We do not have the desire of waking up when we are sleeping as well.

There are some things we do not like to talk about, neither to show, but we would like people to notice them. Once more anxiety drives us to bad mood. We are waiting for an answer that never comes. We are wondering about what they really want and why that person who used to be kind, polite and receptive turned into a mute one who ignores our presence.

It will not last forever, we know. The slash on my finger will heal itself and the stress will die down. We are begging some respect and attention just like everybody. We want to get rid from this evil-minded people. We want our freedom, time and friends back. We want to feel the heat of the Sun, the wind, the rain, the cold again. We want to live one more time and feel sincerely happy. Where is that smile that used to be upon our faces?

THE SMITHS - How Soon Is Now