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Each World sees us from its own peculiar and singular perspective. And it lives in that excessive illusion, believing it knows everything, filling its own hand with an absolute reason that nullifies the correct angle of the periscope, completely diminishing its zenithal vision. It will never be a simple angle of 45 degrees between its two mirrors, which merely reflects the interior of each individual.

Everything would be perfect if the simple could become the correct vision of each gaze, feeling only the right sensation of the periscope's reflection.
Because not all interiors are complex. Many are so simple to understand, to see, to feel. Without mysteries, without any erratic angles.

My interior is simple, with additional lenses that allow for the magnification of who I am. Without reflections, without shadows, without different perspectives.
I wish the World had that capacity in its mental curves and counter-curves.
I am simple, in my actions I am merely the reflection of what I feel, of what I truly feel, of what truly exists in the simple perspective of my two mirrors perfectly placed at their 45-degree angle.
But unfortunately, I am also what will never be seen. Because irrationality clouds the correct vision, blurs the angle, inverts the feeling.
To the World, I am unfortunately, what I will never be.



But for me, I will always be the softness of the reflection of my perfect periscope.

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