Weekly state: towering.

The bigger I get, the smaller I feel.

I have my own ivory tower made out of assumptions and preconceived notions. It is quite shaky, I must admit. A mild breeze can fling me around my tiny bubble of an office. Up here, it is hard to see. Even harder to navigate. My limbs are so far away from me, it takes days for any nervous signal to reach the muscles. Yet, I feel small inside.

A big construct of flesh and bones, nerves and hair. From afar, I appear as a shiny Fata Morgana, an oasis of sorts. “Look how lush and green!”, you’d say. Others might agree. As you come closer, the water evaporates.

I am not alone, there is thousands of me. Putting fear into people by our distant stance. Looming over others. We won’t come closer. Firstly, because you’d see how small and fragile we actually are. Secondly, because I can’t move my muscles fast enough to actually get out of this position.

I am doomed now, having inflated myself too greatly. I tower above, merely a bystander. I shout out from high above, trying to make sense. Trying to become what I look like I am. A big, prosperous illusion of something.

I hope no one has the guts to come closer.

I am power.