A thousand faces.

Lately I've been incessantly disturbed by three sentences. I've been finding myself far away from where I actually am, blank, in circles. What the sentences mean, I think I know perfectly. Which is perhaps exactly why I need to repeat them every now and then, over and over. Every now and then, over and over, I find nothing new. Words will always be mere words. Everything else, never just everything else.

Lately I've been turning my head the other way. Because it's tiring to think, maybe. Because it's tiring to look for other meanings when truth is unacceptable. But ignoring something, I must say, is just as tiring. But tiring can be dealt with. But what inconveniences there is other than that are not as easy to adjust to. Or change. Or ignore again. Like trying to treat things casually, or having the world conspire to be put in a choiceless situation,and then finding things back to normal. Which is no longer normal, because what has been ignored all the while was for a while earlier so consistent and almost making people used to it already. But since ignorance gives no hint of change, everything is a surprise. Worse, everything is a curved blade. But I still don't know what this is. I refuse to expose myself to terms. I hate to admit, I can only shield myself from terms.

Lately I've been seeing more than a thousand faces. Every wall, every floor, every possible surface, a pattern. Every shade, a detail of deception - eyes or hair or chin. I've learned not to be scared. Things lose power when we get used to them. But when will I learn to shrug every face off? How can abstract cling so strong? And is that not power?