Sometimes I feel like she is watching me bubbling, explaining, arguing; with pathos, with confidence, with zero skepticism whether what I suffer about is maybe a lie.
So greatly do I think of her? Do I have such high expectations? Do I consider that my pain is so greatly that I need someone all-knowing, aware of all the steps I have to make in order to reach peace?
Hence, is this lie so well baked that only someone like her can pull it out? Is she doing it or am I playing her? She is all part of my great scheme – the greatest lie.
How grandeur can this lie be?
What if she just watches me while I am in a nut house and she is my doctor? How great can this pain be if I baked a lie which still brings me pain?
A lie so great, it resemblance God. Not aware of it, but there is a sense, a touch of „What if?”.
I search and I wonder: What if I lied to myself all this time and I started believing it and all I want now is cake?
Is this the lie? Is this the cake? Is the man in a nut house the cake? Do I create his „nut house” lie? Does he create my cake?
I think she is as clueless as I am. She just stares and tries her best.
Am I so desperate for a meaning?
Emanuel Ștefancu 