Beauty

Sybil sat there, caparisoned like a tournament horse, playing with a slice of over-done venison and staring at the back of his neck. I thought of telling her that’s mostly what she would see of him. The back of his neck as he plans some journey or the back of him as he rides away…

Maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t get it. It’s better that she’s so blind, so thick and so uncaring that it matters little whether there will be an ounce of beauty when she comes.

It might have been better if he had stayed, but subconsciously, even he knows that the only way to retain his sanity is to flee from her presence- as soon as he can.

Ignorance vs. Reality:

“Much of life,” he said to me “depends on our being ignorant of reality. If we understood reality, we would never go on.”


Freedom- a little space- is so hard to come by that sometimes, when the opportunity presents itself, you just have to steal it. Get a sneak peek at what others take for granted. And then, when you get a sneak peek, you want more. Problem is, you get locked up tighter and tighter… or maybe it just feels that way.
That’s the reality. So maybe he was right- if you didn’t know the reality of the situation, would you care about freedom, or the lack thereof?

18?

Is turning 18 supposed to be like a rite of passage?
Are people supposed to think/ act/ feel differently?
I dunno...I don't feel any different...