How many times does something have to die in order for it to stay dead? How much damage does it take in order for you to finally let go and accept that some things are not within your reach? How can I let my dream of falling in love rest in peace forever?
It's the dream really. The ideal that lingers and resists against all forces. That impossible, unattainable goal, the hope that there's this cosmic union that is, despite all the evidence presented, actually achievable in this lonely world. Why does it still dwell inside me?
Will I give up the will to live, surrender to hopelessness, once and for all plunge into death so I can at last stop trying and struggling to find a person to connect to? A best friend, a lover, a counterpart that will make me feel complete...whole.
I think that it's because I want it, seek it out, look for it in every opportunity presented to me. Trying to grasp something that is ethereal and beyond me. Holding onto a person so tight that I suffocate the life from them. Angry and frustrated that they are a square peg that does not fit my round hole world.
Is it the void within myself that I hunger to fill? The emptiness my upbringing created? The loss and desire for connection that I need so much, that seems vital to my existence. As if I could somehow become who I want to be once I find that one, the person who'll bring out the best in me, that'll silence the self-doubt that plagues me.
So I look to myself. What can I do to be happy? To be complete? I throw in all manner of distracting creative endeavors. Toss fiction and life experience deep into the black hole inside myself. Watch as it is consumed and then I want for more afterwards, always needing more and more, satisfaction never gained.
I discount family and friendships. Dismiss them as worthless interactions that distract me for the moment. If I can't count on love, how can I possibly expect casual personal encounters to make me happy? The intimacy of a loved one is no more than a narcotic, a pleasant chemical reaction that feeds me for now, lost upon disembarking.
If this is what we were meant to figure out, the riddle, the meaning of life, then I find I am lacking. I don't have an answer, a hypothesis, nary a theory to be found. And to be quite frank, I don't want to work at figuring it out anymore.
Love, just let me fucking be, go fuck off and die.