Ah, do you think we hear nothing? ... Because we have a porcelain head and crystal eyes, do you think we are deaf, dumb, blind, insensitive? ... You are wrong, my ladies, you are wrong. We, made in your image and likeness, we, if you want to know, we feel it as if our hearts were beating in our chest and our thoughts whirled in our heads. We get along well among ourselves; we tell each other our stories, we console ourselves, we rejoice; we are not at all inanimate, in short: so much so that each doll has its own good story. Would you like to hear mine? ... I will be brief and who knows that I won't teach you something.
I was born in Nuremberg; but who gave me the ability to feel was a girl's kiss, a kiss that made my life flow through my body, that made me know myself. - You are the most beautiful of all and I will make you princess, I will make you queen! - These were the words that accompanied the kiss, this was my baptism. Oh the praises! it is enough to have two ears to hear them; and if one collects them in his bosom with jealousy, he believes them to be good, as if they were truth. Praise benefits the wise and harms the fool, I heard later; but I was not born with wisdom in my body, and those words, which greeted me the most beautiful of all, buzzed in my head like sweet music, teased my nascent vanity, already gave me a haughty and contemptuous air.
There is more silence today, perhaps more than it has ever been, but it is a beautiful silence. A thoughtful silence. And so I think about the days to come and how they will hurt and I will need you but the distance will hide you and the world will seem cruel. And I will hate him for it. I think I will hate a lot of things. And so I think about how I will try to keep it alive. How will I save all the words that I have scattered in my mind. I will collect them all so that in the moments when I fear fading I will return to them. Relive the past just like Gatsby said it. I could be as crazy as he is. And I don’t think I’ll ever feel alone if I hold on to what you said. Only when the words break will I be truly alone. And I have a feeling you won’t let that happen. ….. The first words that come to my mind are. I like to complicate things. I like to complicate things in a beautiful way. I’m not sure if it’s frustrating or manic for people, but I want to see their faces all happy and confused. I want to do things in the craziest way possible to show that I care. To show that I love. I want to commit to doing something no one else would do and see the expression on their faces. That’s all I want. I just want to see their faces light up and say “What’s wrong with you? Because? Oh my God ”That’s all I want. I want to show them that the beauty of what they give me has to be something worth remembering and the only way I know of to do that is to give them a story to remember …Do you see that light? It is brighter than the sun. Maybe that’s what we’ll see when the end comes. No, that’s not what you think. He is a man with a cigarette hiding in the trees. Yes, it is fading now. The only thing that has kept us warm so far. We are just losing ourselves in what we feel. ….. I know I spend too much time worrying, wondering and looking back on past things and moments in the past and the still reverberating echoes of my history, but these are the things we know for sure, aren’t they? Those things are certain and no one can say anything against it. The past can be confirmed by everyone because we have already been there. We have lived it. We all have different versions of it, a different story to tell, but the important thing is that we had those stories and they actually happened. I don’t know why, I don’t understand any of this and it might confuse many of you, but the thing that bothers me the most is why the things that happened so long ago have such a powerful effect on your soul. How can something be so real? It might sound ridiculous to most, but that’s the only way I understand it. Sometimes it’s almost too good to feel what I’m feeling. There is just no explanation. The explanation will always be vague and even if I feel it right now and have no doubts in my mind that what I feel is real, it cannot be explained. I think this must be the exact state of thought my mind is in right now. How confused and confused are the internal mechanisms of my brain.
Whenever you come across a nice person you are faced with an amazing effort, a huge commitment, you are faced with a person who works on himself continuously, a worker of the heart who works night shifts on behalf of everyone you are in front of a person who never escapes, who manages to put care even in his distraction, who has learned to cause silence when offered to her a provocation remember that you are in front of it a story full of stories, long walks in the countryside of villages that we don’t even know how to pronounce, you have in front of you, a person who does not fear loneliness, who has learned to be alone to become an island to be alone who took his break a lifeline which he made of his salvation an anchor for others you stand in front of it to those who have known despair in person but she did not despair, that has disappeared from everyone, scattered everywhere, depended on no one, dispensation of the world whenever you come across a nice person thank life toast to the universe bow to the sun invents a Sunday throw a party you are in front of a work of art extremely fragile like the canvas of a painting, definitely immortal like a painting.Fragility is part of me, this is true; I feel very emotional and sensitive, able to grasp details that normally people are not able to fully grasp. Even those details are fragile: those little pieces of the world that no one sees, perhaps hidden by the shadow of chaos and lack of time … I see them, and I appreciate them. I see the fragility of the spider web after it has rained, when the droplets of rain run down the threads … I see how easily it could snap, and I sigh, hoping it doesn’t. I am so fragile that when I see a bee, or a hornet, or any insect that could hurt me, that is drowning in a basin, I bend down and pick it up with my hands, because I know it won’t hurt me, because in that moment we are both fragile. At that moment we both suffer. I can’t explain more clearly the sense of fragility around me, but know that wherever you look, in everything you see, there is always a crack, a delicate edge, something that if you look even more carefully, you will find fragile. almost as fragile as you are.
hello friends, I don’t know how many of you love reading books. I don’t know you well yet. But if there are curious readers among you then I can post my profile on Wattpad, where every now and then I see someone writing something special. You are all welcome and if you also have an account on Wattpad let me know and I will come and read something of yours.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 