Madness

It was my hobby.
This morning, as always, I sat across the street, using my binoculars to stare at him sitting on the floor.
He sat there with his book and pen, his clothes tattered, his hair unkept and his bare back scorched by the sun. Yet he kept on writing, unaware of the stares of the passersby... Or maybe just unfazed by it.

I studied him intently. Mr Ryan Withers— once one of the most avid storytellers and inquiring writers. He is a natural treasure, or at least was one.
Now 3 years have passed, and he simply walks around with his notebook and red pen.
No care for himself or his surroundings, just walking, looking and writing; he had gone mad.

"It's quite easy to assume they've gone mad, isn't it Darryl?." I looked sharply to see the young man in a suit sitting beside me on the bench
"Oh, Hello Mr Thomas," I said, before turning back to my subject."
"What do you see Darryl?"
"It's just a madman writing again." I said, while giving him the binoculars.
He took a peek and smiled. He was another odd one, one that enjoys watching insane men.

"As you can clearly see, he is quite insane. Quite easy to say." I say in reply to his first comment.
He didn't respond, just sat quietly with the binoculars looking at the mad Mr Withers write.
"Where you see insanity, I see incredible rapt concentration. A concentration to his art that cares no more for human behavioral or societal constraints."
He put down the binoculars and looked at me with tears in his eyes and a big smile.
"Isn't it beautiful?"
"To be so concentrated on your craft that you just chase it with all your conviction."
"That's what you think this is?" I asked him incredulously.
"Sorry but that's complete madness."
"Exactly!... Madness is nothing but the overflow of passion"
"Uh-huh.." I said politely, collecting my binoculars back.

"You do know you sound quite insane right now?"
"Madness is something decided on others. The mad men never see themselves as mad. So I guess to another person, I might sound insane even if I'm telling the truth."
"So you think you're not mad?"
"At the very least not any less mad than you."
"You have... after all, sat here talking to yourself for forty five minutes."
I turned immediately to ask what he meant but saw that Mr Thomas had gone. In fact, there was no other person on the bench.
I noticed that passerbys were giving me a wide berth and some instantly stiffened as I stood up.
The sun was high in the sky, way different from the morning sun of 12pm.
I walked across the road, finally noticing the difference between myself and everyone around me. Finally, I crossed the road, coming onto the same lane as Mr Withers who was writing, I looked at him and for the first time since I started watching him from the street he lifted his head from his book and looked at me back.
It was just two seconds, two seconds where we were both away from the hustle bustle of the noisy road, we both just looked and saw each other. Two seconds where our passions aligned.
He then turned back to his book, just as the moment came, the moment left.
I stood there watching him for some time, trying to understand what had just happened. After a few minutes, I started on my way back home.
"I told you Mr Darryl, we are all mad. For as you've watched Mr Withers, so I've watched you."
I paid him no mind, he was just a voice in the wind, a voice of madness that lasted for just 2 seconds.
For now...

_{Header Image Was Made Using Canva}

_{My Instagram page.}