You don’t know the fear of mediocrity and how it haunts one. You are clueless as to how it swoops down on you, bending your shoulders in a stoop, making you subservient to a hollowness that begins, mysteriously, somewhere right inside you and then grows: it blooms on the misery that you have carefully hidden in nooks and corners. You don’t know how it feels, when it finally descends on a person, taking prey a being that is already resigned.
You don’t know the kind of life one has to live through to be so afraid of being swept away. You don’t know the constant fear that clouds one’s vision each morning that makes it hard to smile and welcome the day.
You don’t know. Hopefully, you won’t ever get to know.