Make It Fast, Please

It was so obvious, yet I did not notice.

A piece of art is how you read it, right? As it is made, the author, and only he alone, knows the meaning of his work. He alone can give it meaning. However when this piece of work is distributed, it changes its meaning. Its meaning now depends on who reads it.

So if it was a message intended for me, I am so sorry I did not notice. You must be laughing because I really looked stupid, saying this and that, but never understanding what your song really meant. Or I must have brought you even more pain for acting like I did not know how things were for you. I did not read your song the way you want me to, I guess that's the downside of art.

This was the only thing left I needed to know before I go my way. I was actually thinking that I might need a larger force to extract this piece of information. I was actually scared that I might never retrieve this information. I was surprised when I realized that it takes only two persons to retrieve it. One to imply, and the other to prove it whether true or false.

Have I never retrieved it, or found it false, I would be crushed into bits as fine as the sand you see in the most beautiful beaches. I might spend my forever dreaming of the things that could have been.

Having the knowledge at hand, I could not say that I would not be crushed. I am, in fact, but into coarser grains. Like a broken glass, which can be repaired using an adhesive. Sure it would be fragile at first, but give it time - it will harden soon. I might not spend my forever dreaming of the things that could have been, knowing that there could be none. None at all.

Learning of your story is a relief that the road chosen was, indeed, correct. If only I had known of this earlier. If only I had noticed earlier. If only I had given a deeper view of your work. Learning of your side of the story is, I would say, not easy.

But I know that this will pass. Soon. Make it pass. Fast. Please.