Amidst the crowd of normal people, charming ones, it is tough for a mad man like me. I go to pantry alone, not to be caught by sanity, but the coffee maker's rationale strikes me. It gives coffee when I ask coffee. It pours the right amount of milk. Right temperature. Why I cant give that warmth to the people who love me. Why I want to be mad. Why I love an asylum's aroma to a garden's fragrance? Why I love being alone in a crowd, though I like company? Why do I set guidelines for havoc. Why I fall from a cliff in every dream and wake up alone. Why do I forget the injustices done to me and masochistically repeat mistakes, Why do I love to be abused and love to play the victim.
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The Highlander said...
Even the coffee machine won't give coffee to someone who presses the wrong buttons but expects to get coffee. The coffee machine would end up asking the same question, "Why can't I give coffee to people who love me (or coffee) despite of certain unspeakable but to-be-taken-for-granted flaws in their (ir)rationality?"
September 19, 2010 at 2:40 PM