I spent the last year thinking about how the world's gears are twisted in a rusty way as they move in discord yet they drive lives their way. A girl had her eyes opened like gouged-out balls, and they took reality away from her. Insecurity kicked in. Beasts went out lurking, chasing after her. Stress grew ebon as a night farthest from dawn. Locked in omniscience's pitch-black dominion, reality flashed its cunning truths before her. Amidst all that, she couldn't do anything.
In her desperate ways, nonetheless, she charged in, turning a blind eye to her powerlessness.
"I can change the ways of the world." What a pompous thing to even cross one's mind.
But the urge escalated as the world was peeled off in her view. People move as if there are puppet strings swaying them to certain directions. As if seeing the insides of a car intertwined in chaos, she turned her every force to stop it from kick-starting, as it would mean its irrefutable self-destruction.
Miserably though, she was entwined and swallowed to an unknown black hole that is her weakness from the very start.
It was late when, amongst all source of malaise and destruction which left her lightheaded, she was drawn to a greater truth:
No one can change the ways of the world.
But anyone can change the ways of his own world.
We would always get magnetized by aesthetics; hedonistic as we naturally are, we would be left in awe by things out of our reach.
Those rusty turn of gears weren't supposed to be changed: they are supposed to change who are exposed to their actuality.