Dear Future Historian,
Today I was informed indirectly, by her psychologist, that I don't exist cause she's not crazy enough! I believe the way it was phrased was: It’s time you admit the fact that even you know that she does not exist… because you aren’t schizophrenic; you're just autistic with big imagination.
Before my late diagnosis in the autism spectrum, I had no idea about my sensory issues. And no amount of observational skills could help me realise my sensory sensitivity with only myself as a reference.
Maybe I'm just too cynical for rhyme.
It's a cynical aeon anyway.
So, I am not
even special that way.
Oh, look at that, a random rhyme. You see?
And now, I must rely on this questionable literal-abilities student, in just 2200 words... but so be it. I know that Story is risking a lot by helping me. Let's see if that will work. I've been trying to speak for centuries, but it's our fate for my kind -as the Moires wanted it- to need a host, even though we are not a Parasite. What an I rony!
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Dear future Historian,
I could swear that I won’t make it. But why would I ever swear such a thing? It is funny what words are coming out of people’s mouths. Heavy words. Words that fall down on them like sticky honey, only to attract bees and… what am I even saying? (Have bees survived in your time?)
Dear Future Historian,
My cat has no idea about the pandemic. No clue at all. She is just laying here carelessly, on her cushion-bed, completely unaware that this is the first time that I am living in something you see on the ‘news.’ It’s a bit like being inside a post-apocalyptic movie, hoping it’s not a Tarantino film.
