Into the Sea · nothing makes sense
A while back I wrote about «that mysterious, wild-eyed, quiet stranger» and how I wished I was such a someone.
Today I realized it might be a good thing that I’m not. What hell it must be to always stay in the corner, alone — fearing that if you were ever to partake in sociable conduct your cover would be blown. As soon as your mouth opened, you’d be exposed as the socially awkward, shy man you really are. Or as a complete buffoon, void of any of the clandestine elegance formerly exuded.
‘Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt, as they say.
In many ways I am a mysterious, quiet stranger (not wild-eyed, I think). I never know if I should introduce myself when meeting friends of friends, and I always keep quiet and out of the way. The few times I do say something, it’s either commonplace or spoken so softly low that I might as well have kept it inside my head. It would probably have made more noise reverberating inside my skull anyway.
The usual reaction new people have when meeting me is «you’re so quiet» and/or «is something wrong?» Yes, I’m quiet. A lot of things are wrong, but I always look like this.
‘Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool, et cetera.
Then again, maybe it’s better to be a proven fool who, at the very least, tries, than the suspect of a wordless crime deferred.