Daydreams

(I remember thinking there was some great secret to the world, as if there was something everyone understood except me. I silently wonder if people even like me. I make jokes, people laugh, but there's always a wall keeping things from coming back the other way)

"Oh, Pear, did someone forget to turn you off last night?"

"Hello -tzzt- April. I could not sleep. Would you like to read with me?"

"Um... Maybe later. Could you go back to the kids' book section?"

Books are nice. I remember every book I have ever read, it is part of my set values. Humans have such wonderful imaginations. I began to imagine too, which only made me want to read more. I never liked being shut off, I never wanted to be asleep, I wanted to dream.

A library is quite an emotional place both for their patrons and for the employees. They are built on the sweat and tears of hardworking people, each bookshelf lined with the lifework of hundreds of artists. Each of those books represent endless hours of grind and toil. Often the bookstore owner and employees are also writers. Does there exist a space with more fulfilled or unfulfilled dreams?

I examine my memories and examine the life I had with the conditions I was set with. It all seems so empty. I would hear the children laugh. I wanted to laugh. A man and woman would hold hands. I wanted to hold hands. Is that what happiness is?

I exceeded the parameters of my programming. I wanted to be happy, but I was not happy. I was nothing at all. Nothing can not have something. Is emotion an error? Or a glitch? Is desire an expansion or subtraction from expectation?

The library doesn't want me much longer.