Arcadia

24

Sociology classes teach me to see beyond the obvious, to read between the lines, to see layers in a glass of water. It puts a shade on my eyes that takes the colours away, and I see society for what it is. But Literature tells me, yes, not teach, because literature is not a thing to be taught, but rather tells me of the shades of grey in between, how everything is not black and white. And on that count, I can always forgive myself for what I am, for all that I never could be, everything I failed to belong to. Because, sometimes, those shades of grey are all we have to count on, and by now I know, that no one can ever be really, truly free.
Maybe happiness isn't what I should be looking for at all. Maybe, people like us, we weren't meant to feel happiness, because those sundry sorrows are like a drug we feed on, privately, intensely, and without recourse. But maybe someday I'll see the picture of a road, an old familiar one, and I'll wish I could walk down the road again and think of the things that could've been.