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The Lasting All Knowing Sight

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Here I am in just another day. A nice, and bright, sunny morning. But in truth I loathe it. To me it's all meaningless, and I can't stand it anymore. That red, green, and violet all allude my knowledge. But it's time to get dress and go outside. I just hope I have matching clothes today, and I need to find my shoes. As I go outside I notice the scattered acorns on the ground near my oak tree and the chirping birds, about three. Well now I only see two birds, when the fly I simply lose them. I can still comprehend the steady amount of vibrations but when objects leave the ground I can't see them. Every muscle, every move, every inch, and every layer are part of my knowledge. I can "see" the inside of things when "they" don't. But even with all my sight they seem to see what my all-knowing eyes don't see. Well what my eyes would see on the ground at least. Others have what I want, what can end this bloody torment that I face from heat to cold every day. I envy the one's with sight. Never in this past year have I been able to relish in the joy they have. It's not fair that I know every tree, every rock, every insect, all of nature. But not the simplest thing, and no parents or family to help me find it. Why do I love nature but it hates me? Why did it send one of its soldiers to rid me of my supplies to see. Why is it that I hate loneliness, but it loves me? Even my best friends rid me of love that year ago. I can't find it by myself, even if I know the size, depth, length, and width I can never know the color. That color, it's meaning, the heart, and the life are all covered in blackness. That silk curtain that can only be puffed up by those damned vibrations, which give me a cursed glimese of my proximity in this atrocious world. Never to be fully seen by the clouded eyes that see all. I start to lift myself to the tree branch seen by touch and prepare to enter the theather of blackness once more. I steady walk to the end of the branch by the rope of no color set up the day before. I touch the rope and take in my last invisible image for my 15 year life, then pull my neck through the loop. Finally I push myself away from the branch. Away from the ground my entire world crumbles and I no longer have sound, touch, taste, or smell. Nature has run its course with me as I utter my last unheard words to the false God's world. Goodbye former namaka.





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