Letter to the World

Dated: Turn of a Century

World -

I just want you to know that I know I am not a testament to your greatness. I figured it out, no thanks to you. Actually, all thanks to you. If it weren't for you, I don't think I would have figured that out. Maybe I would have, but certainly not as quickly (and not in time). If you had not given me the misguidance, the obsessions, the misconceptions, and the selfish desire for more, if you had not given me those perhaps I would not be writing this letter. Perhaps I would be at the foot of some monolithic discovery of a piece to the wrong puzzle. Instead, you have left me searching for the pieces of the right puzzle, which you and I both know I will never find, let alone solve. Which is where I figured this out: because I am nothing, I will never do anything paramount to mediocrity, which still means nothing to anyone but us, the inhabitants. In the end, who are we trying to impress? Ourselves? What's the point?
Anyway, the point is because I know I am nothing, and will continue to search for the pieces I will never find, I figured out that I am not a testament to your greatness. Only that which is greatest can be -- you, yourself, and only you.
I fear I have overlooked one point. Only if we can all become one, only if we band together, united in principle and thought and action and appearance, could this be a possibility: it is only we who are one that is you. We make you. And we are the testament to your greatness. And at the end of it, when we are you, do we find that the pieces to the right puzzle were never in pieces to begin with, but intact, wholly, and only visible when we each realize that we must be one to be you.
We, who are one, am I; who I am is you.
World, I am you.

Forever,
The Youth

P.S., Fear not, world, because it is very unlikely that all of us will figure out that we must be one to be you, as few have even figured out who you are anyway. And we, like anything else, can never be you without every one of "we" understanding it in time (before we are no longer "The Youth") and very few are ever going to get it. I suspect you already knew that, though, and have only allowed the few who do understand to get it and torment ourselves with it while the rest merely squabble in the blissful ignorance of which, I must admit, I am quite jealous. So, in effect, thanks for a lifetime of cruel torchure and painful irony.

Again,
The Youth (some of us)

P.P.S., Is that why so many geniuses commit suicide? Did you do this to Ernest Hemingway? Am I mentally ill? Or is this real?

Get back to me sometime.

- Only me