It takes 3 steps to dance. 2, is walking. Boring people count their steps by twos when they walk.
I’ve taken a lot of steps until now. None of them combined well enough to create a dance worthwhile. I take small steps. Picture something like ballet. But sadly, I have no sense of rhythm.
My reality is twisted. It could also be considered utopian. In this realm of insanity I find a small stone.
-Dusty, dusty day it is, it utters.
-What do you mean?
-It’s this dust that people leave when they are sad. It burdens the world.
-Then every day is a dusty day.
-Every day is a dusty day, indeed.
-Here, more dust!
-Don’t you have a part in this dustiness?
-My dear, I’m a stone. I can’t be sad, I can’t be happy either. I don’t have a choice. I have no feelings, but if I did, I would envy the things that had one.
-Nobody has a choice. It’s just an illusion.
-Then I would very much like to have this illusion. That is, if I had feelings. Illusions are what keeps you going.
And then it turned to dust. I was right. That was a sad, sad stone.
There are no stones here anymore. They all turned to dust. They are all sad.
If I ever turned into dust, I would be would be white and pure. And I would cover up the whole world, like snow.