Life is a skill I do not own. Like a book so many times seen on the shelves, it feels like a stranger no more. But I don't know the names of the characters, and my undertanding of the plot is thinner than the actual experience.
Knowing about things is a weird power to have, still I don't know a thing. You go by your days, weeks, months, always on edge, hoping that the illusion won't break.
You notice it but you can't place it.
But you know people who know stuff, and one day people will know you.
And I still only know about people, sometimes gaining infos, patterns on their way of being, clues on their expectations. I can read. It just feels like I never get past the backcover, over and over. So few I was able to flip through.