You can tell me that this apple is juicy and delicious, but I'll never quite be able to imagine it. You can tell me this rose smells so sweet and lovely. Sweeter than a smooth coating of honey on my lips. Lovelier than the touch of a woman's hand on my face. But I will not understand you, because I know not the taste of honey, the warmth of women, nor the aromas of roses. I am afflicted by nothing, and everything.
You can feed me ambrosia, and I will feel only ash in my mouth. You can stroke my face so gently, but your hand is only a numb pressure on my cheek.
I know what people tell me I should feel, but their words mean nothing. I know the definition of the word 'emotion', the word 'pleasure', but I have no idea what they feel like.
I know all the lyrics, but I just can't hear the music.
I feel nothing. Not the heat of the sun on my back, nor the fresh briskness of the morning wind. Not the tickle of apple juice rolling down my chin, nor the gentle caress of the scent of a perfect flower.
There are many who have fallen because they shared my affliction. They couldn't cope, and sought to end their torment.
but I remain.