Damn Love?

Love can provoke a thousand falls, but not damnation. It's too sheltered a terrain for the divine; in every embrace, even the most seemingly depraved. Damnation, before recovering the eternal coldness, is one supposes a solitary act that takes place behind the back of all men; an act that must be so terrible to defy even the infinite compassion. In reality, there's only one unforgivable offense to God, the attempt to take His place.

There comes a time when even things you like best start to make you tired. You get used to it. But it's fine this way. It's the mercy of time. Life makes you tired. This time it was not to avoid learning something bad about a person I adored, but because that is exactly how I felt; like a stranger who no longer had any rights to question anything. Time had passed me by, not touching me. Now I just followed the road till it ended.

People are afraid of being lonely. They're afraid of that more than anything else in the world. For me, one would endure it, that thing that one feared most, not just because life is bloody, but because one chose to and it has a reason. In this world, we're all born coarse and cheerful; I think it's life that flays us. We have feelings or if one has dry feelings; one has them alone - sometimes, simple ones. But, sometimes we never have anything we would call a thought. When it comes to love, the lucky ones have love for someone and it makes a private world nobody else can see at all. Then, they're alright. We make a secret self to be for them... at least. I think, it will be alright if we have found someone to love us - but sometimes it's awful otherwise. We couldn't just keep the way we are being ourselves. For ourselves, and not worrying too much as well. I don't see why not, but I think not... somehow. I don't know any adult person who seems like that.

Love sometimes can be awful and marvelous. So, perhaps I am right, about a secret world. But sometimes it isn't the self that wants to be, and how does one know who wants to be? I feel shapeless most of the time.

I suppose that real happiness is having one's favorite self, the person one most like to be, loved by someone. Well, that's a thought... and that's not all, either, because I don't think it's one's favorite self exactly. I mean, not necessarily the person that one flatters oneself. I think it's the nearest self - the one, one truly is. And I don't think being loved by just anyone will do it either; it has to be a special person. I expect it doesn't happen often. After all, people don't seem all that happy.