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Regarding The Pain Of Others
I have to be in love with someone else, I have to marry someone else, to see if he has children, adult children, that not having children is such a tragedy and not being in love with a ghost. as in the last twelve years. But you, your memory Robert is so vivid and like the rain. It doesn’t hurt and I can still see you smiling and all I can do is ask myself why it won’t go away.
I mean, it’s not like boys don’t come into the house (handsome boys with beautiful hair and striking eyes and they just want to talk and talk and talk, I just have to listen, which is the easiest thing in the world with people who are in love with themselves and not I want to do nothing but escape back to the past, back to you, back to the streets of Johannesburg, that winter, that autumn).
Now all I can think about is you. I’m not the same and you’re not the same and you have a life and I don’t. You can stay up all night and I need a routine. You have a family. I long for more. You won’t talk to me even in my sleep and I try to forget the time when my life was perfect and good and I had a friend who made me laugh and forget that I was sick, I was sick with sadness. I’m sick of being different, lonely. Have you ever wanted an ordinary life? I was never a good girl. I was never the girl who would ever be good enough for you, good enough for your family, good enough for your image. It’s funny when you love someone, everything and I mean every detail comes together and I had a long time to think about those details. Oh, the planning that went into it, how it all came together. Going with someone else was a good idea, but I didn’t want to do it because who would put up with me, the suicidal disease, who knows when I’d have to take this, when that, Long, invigorating walks, hot baths, a cat or a dog .
You must have been extraordinary, extremely perfect, charismatic, wise and beautiful, sensitive and wildly intelligent, brutal, violent, aggressive, domineering, introverted leader (oh, men can be beautiful too, many things, subtle things) you left such an impression on me, muse, my psychological framework, at such a young age, so inexperienced. I don’t really want to love anyone else. There. I said. You just have to bear with me appearing and then disappearing from your life, from the pages of books, from poetry, from newspapers and magazines, quickly disappearing from the fields of vision, from the landscapes created in my own imagination, painted there as if you were only my property for a while, and that’s more as enough for me. You see, you really gave me the world for a short time, months, and no one has ever done that for me in my life (I’m not that young anymore and I’m tired of waiting for someone else to come around and repeat what you did) , I’m usually the quiet, invisible, the Outsider, the introvert, and that’s always been fine with me. I don’t want you to see it that way. Times have changed and so have I.
I had no idea what it meant to want the second gender to be feminine and pretty (these words sound so beautiful, don’t they). I was so young when I met you. I was very cowardly, I didn’t always follow my instincts, I wasn’t very tough, I didn’t have courage, but I never forgot you. I want you to know this even now after all this time. I don’t want you to see it that way. I am not strong enough to face the world alone again, to take on the world. Have you noticed that I speak less arrogantly than I did twelve years ago? I learned a lot, especially from you. I learned a lot from you, you know that, and there were times when you were kind, very kind and patient with me. I’m tired of loving the world so much. Sometimes I care too much because the world is so cruel and dangerous, full of greedy sharks, hungry lions and tigers, but I still dream and some nights I dream about you, but I think about the memories I still have of you. And the memory is brilliant. My memories of you are so bright it burns my eyes and it hurts to breathe (funny how the simple and easy things in life that happen to you when people are nice to you make it painful to breathe). I kind of need you. Isn’t your subconscious talking when you dream? It’s like I’ve inherited something wonderful from an otherworldly place when I think of you.
Of course, all I know is how to hurt people so they don’t love them, because that’s all I’ve learned about life, family life, the planet, the environment around me, but plants and animals are different in a way, and I think you know that too. I wanted to be perfect once upon a time, when I was younger, when I wasn’t sick, the wheel, the fine and intricate web of my brain’s navigational compass, all the fine threads that got inside a width that didn’t take care of me. I didn’t know what the word love meant until I met you twelve years ago. Love is like driftwood. When in the hands of the craftsman, it is valuable cargo. If it weren’t for you, I still wouldn’t know much about the world. I wouldn’t know what love and independence is, how strong a man can be who takes his position at work as a slave day in and day out for his wife, children and family, community, and what’s at stake if he loses it all. I would still be sad and lonely if I hadn’t met you. I would still feel vulnerable among the well spent girls shooting around me with their feathered, perfumed hair. I have lungs. i have wings I revealed knowledge and intuition and walked towards the light in the blue sky. Yes, there is a dose of light in my heart, a raw energy. I am a new woman. Look at me now. I write novels. What is love? I look at my parents sleeping in separate beds and I see love. I look at my brother and his pregnant girlfriend and I see love. Once you were mine, how could I forget you, your smile, your laugh, your hunched shoulders, your neck, your dark, dark hair as you turned to me.
You told Louise how I made you tea. What is love anyway? Do you need to take care of a person who is in need of care, who is sick, who needs love or treatment? It is enough. It’s enough if you’re at a safe distance where you can’t see how I’m wasting away. Where you can’t see the dance of nervous breakdown in my nerves, dopamine and serotonin soar in the center of my brain, the secret diary of lithium (that magic salt), of how it once lined my veins, the inside of my physical body. until I gave up, gave up, quit. Where you can’t hear what I hear, the song of caged voices trying to break my soul, and where you can’t see what I see, the hallucinations, the moving Technicolor lights, and I just want to sleep or read a Book it or get wet in a hot bath watching the bathroom mirror steam up and the hair at the back of my neck getting wet. How much I miss the old me, but I often ask myself, who was she, this dream-catcher, dreamy Lolita, skinny, skeletons in the closet? What did he perceive of the world around him, was it a calm paradise? I’m ashamed now. Please don’t look at me. I don’t think I’ll make it because I’ve had x-rays on my heart. I just wanted to write this so that you know that someone is thinking very far of you, of your dream.
This is your atmosphere and I don’t belong. This does not include cowards and sick people, raging lunatics who cannot string clear words together in their hypomanic state. I’m used to not being around people, crowds, foot traffic, rush hour traffic, cars. I much prefer rivers, lakes, streams, pollution (breathing in ash, cigarettes or smoke from factories, the industrial side of the city where cars and tires are made, where there is also a chocolate factory and an ice cream maker. you see, I live here now, take it easy and composed). I now believe in God, scripture, my mother’s wisdom, my father’s words and deeds, and therefore I respect them. I believe in going to church and reading my Bible. I stay up all night. I don’t watch horror movies and the dream world of the dead anymore, nor old movies about zombies. They scare me. I don’t deal with people. They scare me. Their “desire” scares me. How they want to give up their inhibitions. How dare they think that they have the right to live without limits, that they have no flaws, that they can do what they love and think that they are beautiful because they love them, when no one told them that before. You are beautiful because they love you. Many have waited my whole life to hear these words.
I don’t believe in love stories, but I watch them anyway. Sometimes I am moved to tears. Sometimes I laugh because I relate to the characters. I can relate to them, even though I’ve only been in love once in my short life. I guess once is enough to last a lifetime. By now you’ve moved on and I’ve moved on. Your spirit is still here. There are people in whom the world awaits. I have my “little family” (the abstract, the performance, the metaphors of my characters and poems, of course my library, all the books I have collected over the years). In your place is Rilke. I much prefer the sound of silence after conflict played a role in my life, in my childhood, in my personality development. I like the sound of rain, nature, and birds much more. I much prefer the sound of silence in my bedroom, in every interior of the house, and if the television must be on, it must be on the news channel, but low to feed my subconscious, but not loud. makes noise. I learned to control my emotions. I know how to sit quietly in a room, in a dream state, but not to dream, but rather to meditate. Meditating on a mantra or chakra and realizing what drives the empowering factors of humanity, social cohesion in communities in South Africa, what it really means to feel the accumulation of loss, the initial conflicting emotions that arise in your head when you experience it. grief, serious personality, relevant opinion and of course the basics of behavior of someone (the transitioned personality) who had to work very hard to get his life right.
Robert, I’ve watched you from afar all my life, and I finally feel a huge weight on my shoulders, a weight that I should never really have to carry. You never came to me. What does it mean to long for company? At best, you put up with it. I can see this clearly now and I can smile. You were a tracked dream, a psychological invention I remembered when I needed directions to a goal. You don’t love me, not like this, “that way”. Seriously, what was I thinking, so young, so brave, when these unbalanced patterns are gathering, sharpening, weaving magic in the heat and brilliance of my mind’s eye, wasting your time? In fact, it’s just a horrible waste of everyone’s time. Time passes. Memory changes in an instant. Here’s the thing. I adored you. I’ve dreamed of you all my life. And every night you are a different person. Your name is different, your face is different, and I will meet you in a different place. And every morning I wash it all off, putting away the old as if it were dust.
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