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This is the sort of thing we accepted as normal. Yet for all of us there were moments when 'the game we were all agreeing to play' simply could not stand up to events: we would be gripped by feelings of unreality, like nausea. Perhaps this feeling, that the ground was dissolving under our feet, was the real enemy...or we believed it to be so. Perhaps our tacit agreement that nothing much, or at least, nothing irrecoverable, was happening, was because for us the enemy was reality, was to allow ourselves to know what was happening. Perhaps our pretences, everyone's pretences, wich in the moments when we felt naked, defenceless, seemed like playacting and absurd, should be regared as admirable? Or perhaps they were necessary, like the games of children who can make playacting a way of keeping reality a long way from their weaknesses?
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Treasure every whisper of word that keeps you away, every smell you can't reach, every touch you won't feel, and every thought that for some unknown and unbalanced reason keeps you listening to your own voice that just won't accept, just won't allow you to become a part of what we call that normal, is there for a bright reason. You are every much of a child of any 'normal' generation, but for some you seem much more special, someone who's by nature above that all. Metacognitive, they say. You don't need accept failure, nor disappointment, no need to assume or to behave differently. No need to pretend, no need for pretences, when you accept them to be you. No need to fit, no need for better, because someone who sees this, writes this, and wonders about this is most likely still one of the most beautiful people around. So don't. Find your colleges, the little creatures that crawl above and sometimes underneath it all, they are calling too, they see what you see, and wonder the same thing, especially awaiting the playground for it.
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