Since that other day, when be seated on a corner just waiting for the image of hapiness below tearful eyes seemed as ordinary as asking please to strangers, he couldn't say people made him happy anymore. But see: nobody was responsible for that. Actually, no one could even feel how erroneously they were acting just staring and giving smile, or simply resembling friendly. All of those face-eyes were driving him crazy. And still do.
Madness never was reason for ifs, ands or buts. Friendship never was subterfuge for hapiness. Nor the opposite. In other words: thinking of it, a smile-faced world, was not the right way of thinking a life trouble.
Then he opened his book once again, on a random page: he has no more reason to try some linearity. Nor in life or thoughts or relations. Three in one.
Take a look to the sky.
