08| blurred

                 // once upon a time, I used to think that if I lost my eyesight; will there be anything left to see? This green leaves, those colourful prey, pallets of shadowing grasshoppers, and the rustling world going on; everything will be a black screen for me. But it didn't turn out black, instead it turned out grey. Smokey foggy bags are dancing in front of my vision, no — that's what people think about me. I can't pinpoint the exact notions when you asked me from a quiet little distance but that doesn't mean I don't have my other senses. I can feel your hands, I can see the gesture, I can hear the sound of silence. Even when you deduct my thought process with limited ingredients, I can say, I might understand your movements. Those little moments of mosey miseries ended, when I was handed a pair of glasses. You know, they say these glasses will help you with a clear vision but. . . you have perfect eyes to visit, right? Yet you act oblivious, facade of not seeing; on the contrary I got used to my two visions perfectly. Yes, it's a little blurred — when I don't have to see the horrible girth, it makes my pain less, when I get to pretend; these crystal glasses make everything perfect. //

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