It's a Loop

In the sunlight, Jane Eyre looks at herself, still alone, and begins to wonder if her midnight romantic experience was just a random dream. Now, you begin to feel deja vu.

After all, you've been tossing and turning, so you can relate to the anxiety of waiting in movies. With the smooth accompaniment of the piano, you feel as if you were walking in the wilderness with Jane, smiling at her attempts to control her feelings with her mind. You laugh and sigh and say, hey, silly girl.

You begin to feel that the story is within reach and yet far away. Who says you can practice the process when you're familiar with it? You're bullied like everyone else into eating fast food in a busy city, putting on armor like everyone else, and throwing out conspiracy theories to prove your superior intelligence even to your closest friends. You read your horoscope regularly, read 1/12 Men's Encyclopedia, have the most utilitarian practical philosophy on your bedside table, and steer your way through the ever-fragile emotional embryo. You say that The Times are different, the most urgent, desperately to seize something to prove that they have had, seize, indeed, but forget that love is eternal, its pure feeling and simple tension in your step by step under, all dead.

You feel bored, you blame everything on the innocent love body, be swayed by considerations of gain and loss after the loss of some chicken ribs mate, but also hold back not to cry, seemingly natural and unabashedly turned away.

Then, turn over the story that happened two hundred years ago.

You're in front of the screen with empty hands and folded arms.

It is as if nothing had happened.

2021-01-11

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