Rei Lain

Contemplating whether I should type up my short story and upload it, or re-read and tweak. I sure have read it enough times... Almost to cite it word for word. Sigh, things you do for perfection is absolutely quixotic.

Alone;
although beings are present.
Somewhat distant,
Feeling completely diverse from them.
But I wonder,
Is it me who is different?
Or perhaps, it is all those many people.

Describe 'normal'.
We all aspire our own indviduality, our own traits. Fluidity. Not normality. When does it exist? Beyond this grey world into another matter?
I am not normal.
We are not normal.