Nothing’s changed. You’ll go home. You’ll be bored. You’ll be ignored. No one will listen to you, not really listen to you. You’re too clever and too quiet for them to understand. They don’t even get your name right.
We are small but we are many
We are many we are small
We were here before you rose
We will be here when you fall.
I don’t want whatever I want. Nobody does. Not really. What kind of fun would it be if I just got everything I ever wanted? Just like that, and it didn’t mean anything. What then?
The names are the first things to go, after the breath has gone, and the beating of the heart. We keep our memories longer than our names.
Now, you people have names. That’s because you don’t know who you are. We know who we are, so we don’t need names.
It is astonishing just how much of what we are can be tied to the beds we wake up in in the morning, and it is astonishing how fragile that can be.