This is not a story, by the way. I found this on a book and I just want to share it. LUCAS He was a mistake. He was bad luck. You found out about me. For a moment, you became a rigid stone incapable of moving to a direction of your choice. I knew because I was with you that day. I knew because I felt your longing to be drained of feelings and emotions—anything that puts your rationality and your sanity at the edge. But you were able to smile. Devices could be wrong. So, I never existed and never will be. Not for a long time. Not one day or days you havem't planned. At the least, your conviction made you feel alive again. Anxiety, however, had become a cruel nightmare. You cured it with making certain that my existence is a mere paranoia. Again, you tried to go through the maze of fear and worries. Again, the lines of a staggering truth were showed to you: I exist. I heard you. I listened to your sobbing every night, for months. It was so painful to have me here. Yet my death was never your happiness. Until one day, you'd become cold. You said I shouldn't be here at all. I am the ruin that awaits your dream, your very being. You said I was a foreign part of you. Why, Mom? Please don't let me go. I want to hear all the melodies of your lullabies. Is that how the humming of birds sound like? Have you pnce been a bird or something that has wings perhaps? Your wings might have had sung sweet songs, too, everytime they flutter. Will you tell me stories of knights anf heroes, gods and prophets, magic and miracles?