Some things, I have a difficulty understanding.
What I am doing here, why this place feels so familiar, what I am to make of myself, and so on. I have always found it much easier being on my own, without having to interact with acquaintances as pointless as my lengthy travels, without having to speak on matters that do not concern me, but lately I have found myself thirsting for the company of others. I am, despite my age, a sullen, mud-brown creature, more prone to silence and reserved judgment than outspoken and calamitous. I am not evil. I am not kind. I am something in-between, implausible and slightly unsettling. Civil, yes, but not moreso than anyone else.
No, I am no great thinker.
I am not my mother, even though she’d expect that of me.
I should be the color of black and white motley, blue eyes and in the inheritance of madness, sporting illusions of grandeur. But I am not. Instead I am curious, and that vast curiosity is greasy, sticky as it spreads luxuriously over my entire constitution. My eyes are brown and dull, but all seeing no less, my mane is unkempt and matted by dust—almost grey against my mud-brown skin. As such, I walked Beqanna, day and night, glancing at their everyday much as an observer must, never partaking, never indulging, always watching, listening, forming conclusions in the quiet of my mind. For what, still remains unsaid—but there is a purpose, somewhere.
Today is no different – except for the interference of another in my quiet contemplation. He hasn´t seen me – and for a moment I contemplate turning tail and running away the other direction but there it seems a futile attempt. He would most likely catch me halfway and also – there is something about the look on his face that has piqued my interest. Contempt.
Still quiet – I take a step forth from under the bark of a large tree that´s melted into the brown of my gaunt body that has temporarily rendered me unseen to the stallion’s keen eyes. Now, a normal horse might have said something – offered up a name or anything along those lines. But I am not normal and as awkward with conversations as the ungraceful angles of my blunt face.
So I just stand there – watching. A hapless speck of dirt and brown in a sea of green.
"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."
insignificance
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