Waiting for Ulysses
Penelope. It is the name of birds and young girls waiting for Ulysses. It is someone who can bear a very long time the clouds of the days' turn.
She weaves her dress in thousands of patches, scattering them afterwards in the great wide ocean of memory. She likes to preserve her thoughts for when she is alone.
Doubtlessly, being a student is wretched. Being a good student is worse.
What is beautiful about school is its philosophy; it considers knowledge a full entity, a cosmic egg formed of everything. Unfortunately, she does not understand this philosophy and passes through school like a duck on water, touching only the surface.
Penelope has big dreams, but no path towards achieving them, because you can only fly to dreams. The steps, the marble, the desks, the dorms, the pillows, they are all part of her dreams but she doesn't know that yet.
Once and only once she wondered whether she should not be what she was, but that was long ago. After that she didn't ask herself anymore, she just acted of her own accord.
She sailed on a small boat, with a few of her belongings and sat on an island all her life, trying to write the book of Penelope on the sand.
Of course, rain always came and wiped her words away in the sea and that is why she needed to start again and again. The words thrown in the foam of the ocean flowed gently towards other lands that did not know of anyone by that name.
And all the corners of the world soon found out about her book. They received the same copies all the time; the same words she wrote again and again after the rain. In time, every person on Earth had a book of Penelope.
When Penelope grew old, she had a chance to return home to see what was left behind, but she found some binoculars cast away on shore and when she looked through them she saw the whole world was filled with Penelopies, people like her. They had all swollen her books so much that now they all waited for Ulysses.
She felt miserable. How would she be different, how would she die different, if everyone was the same?
If…she no longer was Penelope, but the world itself?
But this is yet another patch of her beautiful dress. When she wakes up tomorrow, she will remember nothing.