The idea scares me from time to time, thinking not of being mad, but of not being mad at all.
I suppose when one is administered such a curse as mine, as one is abruptly shoved into the hellfire of hypocrisy we come to know as life, one may learn to live with the dottiness to the point where the light begins to illuminate the darkness, and even my extreme level of perhaps flaw-filled audacity I have come to be blessed with becomes sanity.
Wiseness perhaps comes with age, and those things that vexed me in the past, no longer give me cause to ponder. However, the intelligence perhaps is also our life’s lapse.
Maybe a god’s bittersweet sarcasm is that the things that compelled us to keep moving forward,
would sooner or later leave us alone in a silent bungalow, without anyone in a thousand miles to linger in our company. The acute power of madness to make us see what others cannot be entitled to know,
leaving us alone in a sea of knowledge, without a boat to navigate the towering waters and waves. In reality, who can really discern a mad man from a sane one?
The perhaps frivolous fear that continues to claw at my eyes from the inside is this:
What if what I have come to know as true, that I don’t contain a sane fiber in my being, is wrong and I am the only sane one in this wretched place?
But alas, my days, like everyone’s, are numbered.
In a number of minutes between 1 and 1,000,000, my madness, like my sanity,
will be absent from the earth, and this question, “am I mad?” will be preying upon someone else’s conscience,
their days, just like mine, becoming numbered,
soon without a care in the world.