Original post (uncensored):
I do not. Perhaps what I am saying seems a little, or a lot, nonsensical but you asked for my sincere answer and you should know that a sincere answer is what I am giving to you. I do not love him. I find it easy to admit or agree to such a thing and the reason why is simpler than you could ever percept. Whatever this feeling that cursed me is, it goes deeper than love. Since humans haven’t found a word for that yet or we may never find, I won’t let myself indulged into its’ charm. For love I have felt and it was not like this. It was indeed powerful, every emotion was triggered by it, but now, now it’s more than that. Now, the infinity of my feelings transfixes my body and has turned my feelings into a hunting warren. A warren of desire, seduction, empathy, vivacious feelings, feelings that if you ask me; I could even live for as eternity lies at dawn.
Maybe I should let you know, hoping you would understand my questioning this ”love” you want to name, that I have become a feathery person, sometimes even feeble. I am asking you please not to judge me or try to convince me that I should reconsider my statements, all because I will not. I am not gloomy. Do not ever understand that. I am as flippant as the hays of the sun on the sunup. You should see my expression now. A sough just escaped my lips, such a sweet and perky sough! It’s tingling my heart; this image of a demi-vierge person who craves for me as I crave for him every night. This rapture or cannibalistic need of flesh, which many of us may not understand, it’s provoking me a deep sensation of amour. I do not say love dear stranger. Mark that. I am biting my lower lip at the very moment and the hotness in the air has made my skin sweat. My humid lips have a salty taste of sweat. The hot breeze, the closed window, the feeble night, they all remind me of him. They all make me crave him even more, even sweeter. How can I make it understandable to you dear stranger?
In a parallel reality, where he exists only for me, or we might say that he is here for me, he touches my lower lip, undressing it from its’ salty taste with his own big softy lips. I fear writing to you the rest of the details so if you wish you can stop reading. If not, well…read on.
I have a need to reprint into words the dream that fed my desire two nights ago. I was intrigued dreaming the same thing twice in one night. Perhaps, or as someone today implied, it was either my fear or desire, that broke the chains to dreaming wetly. Yes, dear stranger, wetly.
In a former letter I have described you the expression on his face, of my saturnine man of course, but I omitted the erotic details. Those are that I am thinking about though. As I said, passion and rapture feed my dreams. His hand ran into me. As you see it, into me. Filling me completely. And oh! I would be called a liar if I didn’t admit that I loved it. More importantly, I felt it. My dream felt more real than any other dream. I am embarrassed admitting such a thing, or concerned of my own burning desires. However, I should tell. It was more than one sensation. My body was flooded. I felt like an ocean which couldn’t support any more water. Close to every imagination I have had, this dream pulled me to the edge, as all I have been thinking about the last forty eight hours is that.
On a third long parallel line, runs my heart competing to all the above or helping them get to infinity. I do not know what it actually does but I feel it running. It has become a beast, a warrior among cyclops. I shall not lie, I do feel deep feelings for him. As I said at the beginning, it is all about some other inexplicable feeling that has not been yet named because there is no greater than that. Writing the last sentence, perhaps I stupefy my own self for writing about ‘love’ as the greatest of all, but you should know, I am not. All I want you to do is understand the difference.
If I was a bird, closed into a roost, perhaps he would be my branch. In other words, he would be the freedom I have gained for myself. In even more words, he would be the one thanks to whom I have set my wings free to live without perks or boundaries, waking up every morning, setting my self to sleep, all with the knowledge of something greater than what we already know. Perhaps, life is all about that dear stranger. Perhaps not. You should not indulge into my thoughts, just listen and understand them.
As I said, I do not seek my cage anymore.”
I could not control the hatred. It was as if a raven was being chocken by a human, harshly; the blood drops were colouring the ground in shapes of evilness and disaster. I was disgusted by the food he once served me; I was feeling my guts burning by the drinks I used to serve him. The gastric acid was running up my lungs elevating the blood pressure and I had no control upon it. His voice made me tremble; my hands were shaking. I looked at him from behind just for a few seconds; I could not resist the urge to see him. His standing was as provocative as always; the air I breathed was irritating, a little bit poisonous I might say.
The door is closed but I can still hear his penetrating voice; it runs fluidly through the walls, making the barriers of justice collapse. I remembered his glare and his laughter. I felt my spline hurting; I panicked unwillingly as if he still has power over me. I tried to cool down my insides for the sake of the tears that would run of my eyes. I cannot.
Perhaps it seems a little off to you that I never presented such desires of hate. I heard her voice approaching and the hatred had to be buried. Hopefully, she did not come alone so the interrogation had to wait. I participated into the conversation with a forced smirk painted on my face and a few random approving words. Every sound would penetrate me like I was made of thin air. Later on, she was sleeping on my arm. I had the time to forget his voice and study the room. She became the subject of my dark thoughts and slowly pushed them away. It was an unpleasant moment; being in that bed, starring at those walls, feeling the scent of another person that wasn’t you. In a certain way I managed to concentrate on her hard breathing. Every movement of my arm would disturb her peaceful sleep; you should see her in those moments; her hands around my neck, her legs crossed and possessive. I think, that was the first time I really felt the abrupt fall.
The hatred was forgotten, at least for a while, but the scar was still there; haunting me.
The sky is cloudy and the black widow surprises me with her serendipity and negligence of the revengeful heavens. The city lights are blurry, reflecting as murderous shadows on the glassy windows. The autumn leaves seem all blackish now, same pattern and nuance. The pine trees are moody because their children are gone and the dirty water of the rain has sickened them. Somehow, those pines trees can resemble to the viridian man. His seedy provision has the same effect on my disposition. Even if it is a fact well known, I cannot accept it. I wish his branches could expand more on my thoughtful mind and answer to my pitiful questions. I am being conquered and pestered by every possible word that can come out of his mouth.
The walls around me are whitish and the furniture seems nothing like luxury. The mattress has no sheets on it and the floor is cold. The window is half opened. I can see the wildness of the human souls pondering on the streets; some indecisive, others lighthearted.
The viridian man was still wearing his impersonal mask. His lips won’t curve into a smile and his eyes won’t show any annoyance. Some may say that hiding what’s torturing you is the only armor that can protect you from the untamed world. I might agree but in the viridian man’s case I fear he excesses the use of this lethal drug.
There was no warmth anymore. There was only fire, the kind of burning and revengeful fire, and I wondered whether life wanted to say something to me or it was just time to stop playing with it. The second theory begs for approval, first in line in my mind. You see; sometimes people tend to make the worse out of a situation and we become revengeful with ourselves for someone else’s mistakes because we think we deserve it or just because we lost something that used to make us better humans. Perhaps that is what I am doing now. I have made consciously the worst of decisions and let people in my life make it more complicated. Have I become feverishly nonsensical? They say that when you wear an armour or a mask you should be careful not to lose yourself in it. Now I know they’re right.
It’s just ( and yes, “just”, because any other word would be unfit and too sophisticated for my current mentality) messy how people knock the door of your heart after leaving without saying a simple reason, possibly expecting you to open your arms and welcome them back warmly. You cannot do that even if it is what you desire most. Do not misunderstand me. I am in favour of second chances, sometimes maybe thirds , but no more. So perhaps that knock on my door disturbed my inner peace, if there was any lately, which I would doubt but still, I thought I had it all under control, I had all emotions turned off, or at least the parts that I wanted to forget for a while.
Obviously gentlemen my theories turned against me and the armour I equipped myself with became flesh of my own flesh. Isn’t it funny how life rolls gentlemen? Or it is not funny at all and the disturbance I feel makes every normal emotion that I should be feeling worthless of living inside me…
P.S. Or maybe I’m “a Bukowski” and there is nothing to be done but live in the sweetness of addictions.
I found out everything about “the game”. A man trapped into his solitude, rambling about meaningless things, the silent noises of an empty court; that should be the image you ought to create in your mind. Perhaps you’re already characterizing him as a crazy person, someone who lost his sense of existence, but here it is where you will be mistaken.
The man wonders whether he should lay there or walk away. Where will he go if he follows the tracks of a poisoning voice ? Nowhere. There is not much thought to that. He will stay and he will continue his senseless speech. The muses of solitude will be his crowd; they must applause at the end, clapping their hands silently.
What about you Human? You are still misunderstanding him. Judging his choice. He is mercilessly speaking loudly so he can be heard by those mute soldiers standing still on the back seats. You don’t understand, do you?
This man knows the purpose of his existence better than you can ever conceive. He knows that solitude, silence, mutation, those are the enemies of the human mind. Nothingness serves the crazy generations, feeding them fear, seducing them into this game of savage surviving. He is not a cave man. He has no physical needs; his only purpose stands on a string, tantalizing itself between sanity and craziness, and he knows that the only way to reach the end of the string alive lies on his dedication to torture the queen of solitude. This wicked game has no ending spell. He chose to begin so he has to play along.
I am chasing you down the rabbit hole. I see shades of midnight blue and silver sparkling. I find it a vivid journey among the stars with only one destination; you. I travel through time and eras. I met Helen of Troy somewhere along the way. She asked me if she would be found by her lover but I hesitated to answer. I also did see Penelope. She wondered alone by the sea, praying to the gods to bring her Ulysses back. I carried the bargain of knowledge and wiped away her tears. I fell for Juliet’s innocence but I couldn’t reveal her the end. I saw a woman dressed in white sleeping between the dwarfs and admired her beauty. There was a fairy among them all who surprised me with her courage. She was tiny and green. I heard someone call her Tink and her cheeks turned scarlet. She loved that someone. Somewhere else there was a war. Poor Queen Mary had lost it all. I think I’ve encountered also to admire, the beauty and tenderness of Anabel Lee.
My journey was long and I stopped to rest. There he was; writing to his Immortal Beloved. I stood away not to be seen. Later on, close to dusk, there was a star brightening the whole sky. I tapped my shoes three times and flew above the seas. I got into a room filled with blue ink and thrown papers. He was standing close to the window bewitched by that star. That night I saw him writing the longest poem of all his generation had seen. I tapped my shoes three times again. I was back to my destination. He wasn’t just a stop along the way. I found him sleeping on the right side of his bed. There was a star lighting up the room. I smiled to my own thoughts and curled myself next to him. His skin was soft and warm. I embraced him with all myself and he kept me tight against his chest. I inhaled his perfume of a new born. I closed my eyes in a few seconds, smiling, feeling safe. I was back home to my one and only destination.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you my love. I miss you more than I have ever missed anyone. I miss touching you, kissing you, hugging you, and then I’m sad again and scared, for which life is not easy. But when I lose hope, you’re there, reminding me that everything is going to work out, and we’ll be together. Holding hands under the midnight stars.”