Prologue – Love is looking for me
What's gotten into me?
Am I afraid of love?
When did I decide it wasn't for me?
When did I believe myself?
How many years have I been searching for the ephemeral for its ephemeral quality?
What happiness has it brought me?
I turned to the Eternal One while chasing the passengers
This is my normal mode
That's what I know
It's easy, it's habit.
It's easy to be easy
Why is it easier to make someone else's tail come than your own heart?
Is it really as I thought?
Am I really who I thought I was?
Am I really looking for what I want?
But what exactly is it?
Just a little bit of company, perhaps?
No, I'm not looking for love.
It is up to Love to find me
Imperfect Slam
I accept the company that life puts in my path
But something inside me
No bouge belt
Is there even anything there?
I don't know if it's him I'm indifferent to.
Or, I, who have cultivated my inner self as a garden of apathy.
Within me
Nothing is moving
I'm bored
But at least nothing hurts
And that
It feels good
Because I couldn't bear the suffering any longer.
It's best not to feel anything.
Yet
There are those who want to suffer
To feel something
To remind themselves that they are alive
Not me
The mere distance between me and my breaths creates negative pressure for the icy breath of life, and when it penetrates me, its bite is a sufficient reminder that I am not living enough. And yet, each passing day brings me closer to death, as much as any other, if not more. And I don't want to die with the regret of not having lived enough, because that would be too much… too much…
I'm hesitating.
What word can I use to end this sentence that already perfectly expresses my relationship with myself, so perfectly that any other word would disrupt its balance?
And perhaps that's my fault.
Preventing me from living for an abstraction like the balance of a sequence of words
Forbid me from choosing an imperfect adjective
To place above myself the perfection of an incomplete sentence
This has to stop
I'm going to finish it
…and I don't want to die with the regret of not having lived enough because that would be too… imperfect
It's not ideal, but it's true and it's mine.
But why can't I feel anything yet?
Conclusion – Just one life
It hurts to only have a mortal life
But it feels good to only have one death
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