I can't see the hairline fissures in your psyche. I don't know why you are the way you are. I can guess. I can classify you. But you defy me. You refuse to be consistent. You're pounding into me, breaking my self-assurance, cackling at the cracks in the wall.
I try to fill them in for you. I cover them with paint. The paint cracks. I build supports. The wall starts to sway. Frantically I scream at you to stop, to return to your seat, to return me my sanity.
Your eyes are filled with laughter. Tomorrow, it will all be dust.
photo by garmonique.