| Short Stories |
| Page 5 |
| SHE She became absent minded, derelict, always in her own world. She would no longer, upon life, look the same way, as she did before, it was impossible.She became different � in bloom � where thoughts could not quite reach reason. She was constantly in �her own� reality, where no one seemed to understand her, where she could not love and where she could not be loved. Not by her family, but by a lover; nor man, nor woman. She wouldn�t let it. She did not want love to break her. She was trapped in the land of misery, in a land of emptiness, full of philosophy and yet full of nothing.Actualism and possibilism , now did not depend. Utilitarianism became her friend, along with ethics, but only because it was her love for a particular that led her here, to a land of mere survival through the thought of how to die.She now liked what she never liked before:- searching, listening, not talking, sitting in silence, tormenting her already broken soul (or maybe it is sole, because that�s how it felt). Dirty, cesspool like, because of the malodorousness� Her soul felt hollow, but it was there, hollow but there! It wasn�t the matter of being afraid of nothing, to become nothing, to feel nothing all around. It was the matter of thinking nothing, because you still think of something i.e. nothing. It was the matter of not being able to think it all. She felt incomplete, like there was a black hole in her heart � emotional, not physical and also in her soul. It was almost what (the �mad philosopher�) Nietzscthe said: �if thou gazes too long into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into thee.� It was becoming true, but here, it was the abyss of loneliness, the metaphorical abyss of life, death and depression. The abyss was the hole in her soul, eating away at her emotions, the right state of mind. Except here it wasn�t psychosis like schizophrenia or manic depression, not an unsoundness of mind or a lack of understandings prevents one from having the mental capacity by law to enter a particular relationship�(or so they describe insanity). It was more a lack of concentration to people outside her thoughts, it was a state of constantly thinking of logic and being aware of what she did, just in case people did say, �you�re just nuts� or �go back to the asylum�. Even so she always had a reply, �To the crazy the normal one is insane�� Somehow because she was aware, the became hopeless, everything became indifferent (�listlessness� as she described it). She couldn�t sleep, she became an insomniac, who read or listened to music in those hours of complete darkness, where in the distance you could see only one car pass by every 3 hours and only one lit, street lamp. Perhaps it was depression. On the other hand she was loud and very irritable, she did everything in abrupt motion. So was she or did she have mania? Perhaps it was both:- manic depressive? (well here�s a lesson of how to contradict yourself). Who knows all I can say is that I loved her. Unfortunately for me, she could never know, it was a love from a distance. To me she was an angel, who just stepped out of hell, surviving the long days? months? maybe even years of torture. The pain of tears stained her soul. You know what they say, �sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt� none of it is true. It�s like denial, even worse. I think the opposite � that if someone hurts you physically, you�ll soon forget about it, as the bruise(s) will disappear, whereas mentally, you are more likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorders, of course there are exceptions to this, like war and its victims. I am not talking about that though, I meant the everyday life, the bullies and so on. Perhaps my ideas do not make sense to you, I don�t care, I like to sit and make up my own reality and my own strange philosophical rules. I guess that�s the difference between her and I. It�s that I make up reality, she only perceives reality, and it�s not necessarily her own though. Even though she says she�s a realist, I think she isn�t, because reality is what you want it to be, not what everyone else sees it to be, and how everyone else perceives you. For example if someone was to say she was insane, I�d be a dogmatist and say that its wakefulness and sanity, rather than sleep, as insanity follows after. Of course on the other hand I could be a sceptic and say that the preference for insanity and sleep is no less justified than a preference for sanity and wakefulness, but that�s another story. She was my only true love, nothing physical, pure platonic love. I guess that was the problem, she wanted both, I preferred to stay as friend. If there was something more I was afraid I might lose her. I knew she often needed moral support and that�s what I was there for, to help her with any problems, have suggestions ready. She did appreciate it, but I felt, I knew there was something more that she needed. Maybe a goodbye kiss would have changed her mind� Fate? Chosen one? Fear? I guess I�ll never know. All I can say is that after hearing the news, I felt torn in two. I know there will never be another person like her. The way she smiled; her eyes and the way they looked at the surroundings, that were so familiar and yet she noticed something new about them everyday. The caprice of all the days that she lived and the caprice of her life. She chose the easy way out; although she doesn�t know it she broke many hearts, which some seem to hide, but still quite clear, especially to an observer, if that�s what I may call myself. I will follow, where she leads, even if torment may follow, I don�t care. I now feel exactly the same as her, not because we are alike but because we have the same emotions. That�s why her description mind remind you of someone, you know or once knew� I want to sit down and cry, rip my hair out, because she never really loved me, she loved another, however he broke her, and killed her. I wish I could kill him, but that would be an easy option for him, he wouldn�t have to suffer the torment and the guilty conciseness that he killed someone (not literally). I will take the same road as her, just like her I will stand here on this roof top of the Orthodox church, ask God to forgive me and fall. Keep falling, until my soul has finally caught up with her and tell her, how I am sorry, if I hurt her. How I love her and tell I want to spend all the time left with her and only hope that she will show some affection towards me. Tell her that I was scared before and that I was afraid to lose her. Or my world will plunge into a black hole, of nothingness, of emptiness, of loneliness, of fear, of cold, of painful memories to my soul of her, and all the wonderful things about her. |