Not Even…
I recently found myself ending a conversation by saying that if some supernatural being would reveal itself and ask me to choose between making the whole world be exactly how I’d want it to be from this moment forward and being with Andra again, in a relationship which would work out well and would last for as long as we both shall live, which should at least be enough to compensate for the suffering I went through, I’d certainly choose the second option. Actually, even if that second choice would only specify being with Andra again, without any other details, I’d likely still pick it.
That’s one choice I’d probably live to regret, even if only because I wasn’t talking about having to choose between the two, that’d certainly require no pondering, but just about which one of them would be given to me on a silver platter, leaving me to worry about the other. Seems obvious that I’d have much higher chances of somehow ending up with Andra again if the world would be exactly as I’d want it to be than to change the world by simply being with Andra again. But if I’d pick having the world changed for me and then I wouldn’t manage to get back together with Andra on my own I’d regret my choice even more.
But even such a fantastic scenario would still bring troubles. Even considering only the changes I noticed when we last talked, about a year and a half ago, being with her again wouldn’t bring happiness. Not that she appeared to be particularly happy then, but she certainly seemed more at ease with a life which emphasized those parts of her that I had always been very uncomfortable with and added some new elements on top of those, hardly any of them appealing. So asking to be together again in a relationship that’d work out begs asking which one of us would it work out for. Not that I wouldn’t prefer to be unhappy with her instead of depressed without her (with the exception of the children issue, that’s not negotiable and therefore always my worst fear), but that hardly seems like having a wish granted. It should also go without saying that it’d be awful if she’d have to be unhappy to be with me…
I’m saying that I need to make myself hope because I need to hope to live, and I was too much of a coward to kill myself when the time was right so I’m stuck with living, because too much time has passed and after a while I started actually wanting to stick around as long as there was at least a theoretical chance (which means as long as there are no children involved, since that’s the only price that’d be too high to pay for being with her)… Not that I can even know whether that theoretical chance still exists or not, which makes me live in constant fear… But if not even in such a fantastic scenario could I truly hope for things to work out, what’s left?
How and why do these things happen? People lying to themselves, only to notice at some point that the lie no longer holds and that they “change”… And life holding the proverbial carrot in front of our noses until we fall off the edge of the cliff chasing it, ending up holding on to a thread of hope too weak to help us get back up, but which doesn’t let us just get it over with and fall either…
And why does society encourage hurting others when there could be other alternatives, much better ones? But no, those aren’t “right”. It seems that things that make sense are hardly ever “right”, and that it’s far more “moral” to cause pain and destroy lives than it would be to prevent this from happening. Once again I find myself wondering for the briefest moment what are people thinking, but then I remember that the tremendous majority of them aren’t thinking at all. Not truly, anyway.
But I’m babbling and this is pointless… As pointless as anything and everything else I might think, say or do. The only thing that had a real meaning and purpose in my life ended nearly four years ago, leaving me drifting as aimlessly as I had been before meeting her. Every so often I find myself trying to find a purpose to it all, but that’s just the mind of a frightened boy trying to imagine some friendly shadows among those that are constantly creeping closer and closer to him… In truth, there most likely is no purpose to anything. Life, all life, is just a quirk of Nature, its only purpose being death… But it seems to be that much more fun to utterly destroy those little worthless playthings before they die, doesn’t it?
