Friday, July 16, 2010

i

Quod me nutrit me destruit.* The love washes over me, through me, and I cannot stop it. I'm a masochist, I suppose, letting myself loe sleep over whispers filled with the warmth of burning cider. I cannot help letting the alt-strewn waves of disappointment infiltrate my every pore. As I lie down in the moist, wet sand, I let myself fear the sting of jellyfishes. I've always had a love-hate relationship with the ocean, with the snow, the rain and the sunsets. I try to pretend I abhor them like any sensible person would, but I cannot top dreaming. The worst part is that I'm not even hoping for anyone to come and save me. I don't want a boy in shining armour or a Joan of Arc to come sweep me off my feet and lead me off on their white horses. All that is a bunch of useless dreaming. Well, I guess what I do every day is useless too. And I guess you could call me one of those hopeless teenagers who doesn't know up from down. In a way, it's true. I have everything I need and from the outsider's view, I have everything I want too. But in reality, I really don't. No one really does. In all honesty, I'm in love. And this love of mine is not towards a person or an object, it's towards an event. It's towar5ds something that all of us thinks we're doing, but only the ones who truly know what it's all about do. The rest are only kidding themselves, sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. The unconscious pretending is worse because you have no idea how to escape and fix the situation. You have no way of knowing that you're living in a nightmare. On the other hand, when you know and refuse to wake up, now that's the tragedy. It can either be because you're too worn down by it all to try to get back up again. Either way, it's a pity. Everyone deserves to be aware of what, I think, is this incredible phenomenon. Personally, I cannot boast that I'm one of those enlightened ones. But I'm trying, every single day, to reach that point where I can honestly say "I love life. I love every single second of it, even the bad seconds because those also shape me as a person. I love life and I am living it." My love, masochistic and nourishing, frustrating and fulfilling, not understandable and destroying, is my will to truly live.

Mon coeur s'ouvre a ta voix.* My lungs open to your breath, letting the sweetness that is your essence to flow through me as though it were blood. I don't need food or water to sustain myself. All I need is a few whispers in my direction, at most a touch on my skin, and I can live for a week. My fingers curl into waves and my palms start to swim. I cannot keep still and if I do, I'm afraid I will faint. I don't need air, I don't need...I am not human. I am some poor soul trying to forget pain and disappointment. I only want to drift away, bodyless, looking down at everyone dying each day. I do not want to live anymore. I want to be free. I know you will never love me. I know I sound stupid and I know I shouldn't do this but I cannot live if you will not sustain me.

We are pure fucking diamonds. Why can't we see this? Every day, I see how we treat ourselves. We lie, steal, hurt, murder. Not others, at least not directly. We lie that we are unhappy. We lie that this is not what we want. After all, we are comfortable and we should be grateful for what we have. We lie that we do not deserve to have more or that we should search for it. We steal from each other. Not physical possessions, but emotional ones. We steal feelings of worth, of love, of some kind of feeling to pretend that we are still alive. We hurt because after the stealing ha been done, after the drugs have worn off, we still need to feel something. we resort to pain, to blood, oh how beautiful it is, not too deep because we still need to lie. And then, we finally kill ourselves. Some of us fall down and can't get up anymore and some do it by accident. Some do it on purpose and some just wait for it. Why can't we stop this? We're scared of something. Scared that we will fall out of favour with our co-workers, scared that our husbands will leave us, scared that our children won't love us, scared that mommy won't accept us. Why do we do this? We are hopeless.

*Quod me nutrit, me destruit (latin): What nourishes me, destroys me
*title of a Muse song "Mon Coeur S'Ouvre a Ta Voix (I Belong to You)" (french): My heart opens at your voice

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