Books were not the world itself.They were just a tiny part of it,in writing.
And they weren`t the world as I faced it directly.They were just pieces of it filtered through another person`s mind.
That`s why they never hurt me.I was insulated from the truth.And the piano.
The instrument that I had only used to make sounds.But it`s not.
I tried once more to fully experience and assimilate The world around me,the world that had always seemed so pale and flat.
All these things that had been so vague,the things I saw,I heard,I felt,I smelled,they all spoke to me now.
I am connected to the world.And what an exquisite world it is.That is why I can accept everything.
This beautiful world.This dear ,lovely world.This miraculous world.
I once read something in a book.
That there were 14 physical formulas that form this universe,and if the math in any one of them did not work perfectly,the universe would never have been born.
The probability of a miracle.A miracle world.