A story should have a plot, a main thread, twists and turns, and a defined number of characters: listening to them, life seems so dull! Look at me, reader, I have no friends to speak of; my life is terrifying, bland. A poorly told bad story, it's composed at the center of myself, with my downfall looming as I take desperate steps toward my missing beloved. A poorly structured life and story, a secondary character—that's who I am.
If well-structured stories are built on solid foundations, mine is in agony, crying out for help, muffled by an unshakable nihilism. Is that a bad thing? It's always in chaos that revolutionary ideas take shape, where the ecstasy of extremism leads us to the brink of destruction. Or conversely, the tragedy of Jesus guides us to become better.
Similarly, it's in chaos that a true story is formed; a piece of flesh must come out of the inkwell, as the man who understood female psychology once said.
Sitting on the grass waiting for my sister who tries so much to still love me and making all sorts of excuses inside her head to justify my behavior with her, I was thinking about desire.
Leaning on the grass watching the clouds, i murmured to myself.
"I often thought of changing my habits, changing myself, would I lose myself in the process ? Would I become more like the real me ? Hmm, maybe after all the real me is who I am now. Even though restricted, that is not an excuse, the real me i wanted to find through all kinds of mental gymnastic is right here, it is the me I always wanted to become, it is me."
The clouds looks beautiful, my hand on them is even more mesmerizing.
"No one is truly who they wanted to be, but what can you do about it ? No one knows if i would be happier with another body, we can't do anything about it. Endure. The more I think about human relationships the more I think about Irene acts of kindness, the cuteness and innocence, when she helped a lost child finding their parents, how i saw her taking the tiny little hand of the child, pressing him to go faster the both of them smiling.
At this moment, I cried all the tears I had in my body, I think this was the most beautiful moment in my life, this abrupt kindness, this feeling of wanting to end it all on this final act like nothing else in life would be worth living after that.
How can I be sane with having memories of an Angel in my head, I felt the weight on my shoulders : the contrast between her and humans too blatant, too strong and whatever i may think, Irene is pulling me towards her, i feel it in the most profound part of my being, my cells aching her skin, almost in a gravitational way.
Her blood is red, her hips not particularly beautiful, what you could say though is that she had beautiful skinny legs. She was just my style but that wasn't why i kept on chasing her : i also remember her gazing at the distance with an apathetic gaze, that was just enough to make me cry, apathy, that was truly the most human emotion. At that moment I remember kissing her without a single sexual thought, love became real when you considered this girl as your family, as a sister.
I would never forget how Irene looked at people passing by, her who wouldn't even hurt a fly, cursed people just by looking at them, tormented by this frenzy of living, of being everyone at the same time, to experience, to contain within oneself the whole world.
Laughing softly at clouds who's shape reminds me of a love embrace, between two useless thoughts, I thought to myself that this… This reality feels like something i would love to write : a man chasing his love no matter the price, wouldn't that sound like the most cliché story ever made?
Love is cliché, affection is cliché but it's the most profound source of meaning in this life, so I learned to cherish it because ultimately, only love can save me, without love nothing can be seen. Now I need to choose between loves, love for my sister and for my soulmate, this is cruel.
I wish I imagined all of this in my head, from all the hypothesis of life, i prefer the solipsism, how beautiful it would be to know that all around you was created by you, all the decay, all the love, all these complex feelings and beauty of nature created by the mind : I could even finish the book on this line.
Where will kindness lead me to, what path ? Heaven, hell, I will learn it sooner or later, my way is kindness. Nobody can truly change, nobody. Evil will be evil and kind will be kind, i stopped wanting to change people, and stopped caring about if I'm normal or not.
The beauty of thought is the fact that I don't believe half of what i wrote here.