Moment 6

Hidden in one of the inner corners of the drawer,
a single piece of white paper ripped out of a notebook lay.
Written on it with a slightly sloppy handwriting, as if in a hurry,
it said.
.
"
What is it with you?
What is it with this obsession you have to find everybodys weakness?
What is it with this urge to push and provoke everybody until they crack?
.
Is it only a boyish fascination?
Does it give you a thrill to poke things with a ten foot stick?
Or is it the secure feeling of knowing you have a ten foot sharp stick to separate you from the rest of the world that makes you thougtless when it comes to your own behaviour?
.
Would it make you more relaxed to see me on my knees?
Does it bother you that i have a strong sense of me?
Does it confuse you that i have an opinion?
Will breaking me, exposing all my ugliest faults and weaknesses somehow make yours smaller?
.
What are you so desperately protecting?
Do you even know anymore?
Or did you just go into defense-mode once upon a time and lost the off button?
Why is it so impossible for you to relax?
"