Time goes by and you look back at who you were back then, back in the good old days. And it was us, a group of passionate, eager and ambitious Literature students. We studied literature, and we wanted to know everything about it. We wanted to explore the world through literature. We read, analysed and discussed. We argued. We lived in what we read. We devoted our days and nights, our vacations and our hectic times, to only be with our books. We were obsessed and sick.
We thought we knew everything. We thought we are taking over the world. Nothing stopped us from wanting to be the legislators of the world. In our worlds we were already kings, and gods.
We thought we knew everything. We thought that whatever Literature said to be true, was real for us. Literature was our religion. We prayed for poets and authors, they were our gods.
We didn’t want to live in peace, we wanted to live in poetry and remain wistful.
We thought we knew everything. And everyone around us was ignorant and unfortunate. We thought we were the lucky ones, the chosen ones. We are already in the quest of immortality, and ready to rule the world.
We were pure evil. And looking back at the good old days, we were purely naive.