muted participant. if anyone knows how to inflict torture on oneself in a bid to follow god's message, is me.It's quite like Somerset Maugham's Christmas holiday. Just without the love. But quite like what Mary went through, but without the evil villagers mocking. I don't have any villagers. The friends know nothing. It's strange. Quite. Most complicated to say the least. It's a strange sort of an attachment, it's completing an arrangement. At the cost of living in this world. Absolute horrors mixd with complete ecstasy. I am the culprit. The victim. The plotter. And I've been caught. And the reason always gets away with it. Always, without any hurt. Does as he chooses.
Scott-free.
Quite like what the british felt when they took away the Kohinoor. That's how it'll be when I fly. Only except the Kohinoor will be willingly given to someone who didn't deserve.
