Please, do not understand me too quickly.

— André Gide

I’m complicated. Uncomplicate me.

Or don’t.

Don’t understand me too quickly. Let me stay a mystery for just a while longer. You said you liked mysteries. Did you change your mind?

They always change their minds.

You’re not them, you protested.

I’m not them either. I’m me. I’m who I said I was. I’m complicated. My soul is a puzzle, even for me. But puzzles are good for the brain, you know. Do you wanna play?

Hey. Don’t ask me about the rules. There are none. God, do you always have to complicate things?

Or maybe that’s me. Did I disappoint you again? You asked me to explain. But it’s… well, you guessed.

Complicated. My standard answer to everything, you said.

I don’t play by the rules. Rules put handcuffs on my imagination.

My imagination… No, I’m sorry, dear. I can’t let you in. My thoughts are like twisted alleys, full of dead ends. You’d need a map. Or you’d get lost.

Oh, we’re all lost anyway, aren’t we?

What’s that look on your face? Are you following? Or have I made this too… complicated?


4 thoughts on “Complicated

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