The chaos makes sense. The chaos means activity and the activity means... something, I swear. I'm trying. What story should I tell this time? I need to write it down, do I? Do I pick the story based on the story or do I pick it based on the reaction? Is there even a difference? I tell myself that it is because the cynicism will overpower my power of will otherwise.
It's like 3am and I'm fully awake. Where is the Pilot 912? I woke up early, I stay up late. It's a new day? What happened to my hamsters? The I, the II... Named as kings, treated as such, favorite pastime was time passing. They were onto something and I looked at them amazed by their simplicity, their foolishness. Stop with the ball, Hamtaro.
Maybe I was the one mindlessly running in the ball. Is there really a ball? I liked the wheel better. A timer could come in handy. They are definitely laughing about me somewhere, laughing at me being the clueless one. Where was this lesson, Shawn Carter? Stop with the ball, Hamtaro, or I'll set you free.
In the end they are all gone and I stand. Sort of. All gone, but hold on with the celebrations, cause I'm tired of the ball, the wheel, the jail, the jumping around for a treat. The books open more windows but all of them offer views of pain. Bring the I and II back, I need a long conversation and let me apologize in advance for the swearing, I lost the boat but the tongue stays true to it. Stop with the ball, Hamtaro, or I'll set you free and you'll have to conclude whether that's freedom or loneliness.