She hid behind her eyelids, convinced that she has eluded the world. In the distance, she heard their countdown…8, 7, 6… That stupid expectation that something will change echoed in their vocal cords… 5,4,3… She hated the naivety, the act, every year the same…2,1…
Happy…! New….! Ye….
Why do all these statements sound so vacant?
Do we use them too much or have we forgotten how to feel?
She subconsciously knew that the answer rested upon the fact that everyone remained actionless upon their words, and that these circuses were entertaining only to circus fools. The audience has become deaf and dull. Love is being carved in the apathy by reckless strikes, little by little.
What kind of a circus is this, where the main act is a performance about lies!? Clowns who wish to be gymnasts, but remain clowns. Jugglers who wish to be tamers, but remain jugglers. Her applause was directed only at pantomimists, the sincere, imprisoned in their 4 imaginary walls. Unhappy, unconscious that there will be no progress until they devise new scenarios. Until they draw a window with their gloves and let the fresh air in.
Only do their statements ever sound sincere.
Their facial expressions says everything.
They don’t care about seconds and fake screams. If they wish to know what time it is, they have to draw the time itself. They slowly realize that the answers can only be found in our creative silence. That the reality is just a movie which genre we have chosen ourselves, and we look at it over and over and over again… Waiting for the end to finally motivate us. But the more we look at it, the less it has sense.
Blind to the fact that changing our genre also changes our perspective. That as long as we pick our genre according to our mood, we will continue to watch the same thing. Everything else will seem like a Circus.
She opened her eyes, stood up and with a glass in her hand approached the circus fools. Her drawn tear dropped into her glass. Loudly, she proposed a toast and raised her glass. Glasses touched and the scene broke into millions of sharp pieces. The circus had disappeared, all that was left was her and a small window.
She let the fresh air in.