Maybe a storm will come that will openly reveal and lay bare the hollow structure we used to build modern society.
If she was there for anything less than what became the outcome, she would have belonged to a fairy tale. Maybe our love was a bit to fierce. It became what it is, and could be nothing less.
We rushed into mighty despair. So it seemed our love was a bit like a catastrophe. Exchange “love” with “disaster”, and you are closer to the essence of what we became. In this case it wasn’t bloody, more like indifferent.
I do not want to hear more about love. What they call love is only superficial nonsense. True love is something far more rare. However, I do not want to hear about true love either. Give me nobility and transcendence.
They told us to love, but all we could do was to pretend. We became sick of love. We polished our ego instead, and what we called love was more like dysfunction. We took a troll to his cave and butchered it. That was our sexual appetite. That was our decline.
In hindsight I should properly have avoided her. It should have been clear at first that she was an annoying bitch. Lust provided the only motive for not walking away. Her obnoxious talk about things that didn’t matter.
This little poem that I wrote for her. It should have been clear at first that we were destined to ruin. The summer that never came.
No amount of passion could make of for the way in which our bond were malfunctioning. We were imparting form on to chaos to dress our silly childhood in new clothing. The age of cheap passion designated us as losers, so that we understood instinctively that there was no way out of what Hell we were creating for ourselves. Inflated egos pushed us to the boundary of insanity, but our lovemaking were intense.
Were we incapable of true love? Did we want to deny ourselves the pleasure of family life and the assorted things belonging to this phase in life? I had a hunch that she was in love with the idealistic notion of debauchery. And so we were partners for a while, sharing our most intimate aspects of our personality with each other, but totally devoid of any love. It was not that we did not desire love. It was more that it is impolite to love.
So our sweet embraces turned wilder and wilder, and what belonged to the abyss would manifest when we were close. Perhaps we even idealized suicide for a while, or to crash in the middle of a long night. To say we were dysfunctional is an understatement. However we never judged, but we appreciated the logic of reasoning from cause to effect, so as to understand what lay behind our ulterior motives.
Somehow we always end up where we belong. So our love was not love, but profound indifference and boredom turned into profit. We just didn’t have anything better to do. So we found each other in this void, and in some sense that was the same as love. To erase the loneliness for a while, while pretending that our sex was not the same as masturbation.