end of the war

I’m mourning. I’m strong enough to deal with the loss, and I’m doing fine - better than fine, once I thought I’d die - but I still lost something. Something that meant a lot to me. Something that kept me floating for the last years. Something that, at times, felt so right that it couldn’t be wrong. I thought it would be my future. A love of a lifetime. And I wanted to be capable of such love - I won my own bet. I am capable of such love. I am, it would be forever and forever wouldn’t be that long. But I wasn’t allowed to keep forcing myself. I needed to close the door. Thank god I did or my death would be now. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care if I’m here or in China, if this love of once is here or in China. 


Now I long for something true. This was a dirty game - at times felt so pure... so overwhelming... - I was the one overwhelmed. Maybe it’s not man's nature to deal with innocence. I was näive, at times. But I was also a warrior and I fought as long as I could fight. As long as it was dignifying. I lost my dignity at times, I did. I put aside something that I would need for my entire life in order to experience one minute of absolute happiness. And I was so drunk inside - so driven, so taken - that this moments exists better in my dreams than in my memories. I regret it now, because eveything else will always taste like nothing. I regret it and I feel ashamed of it. Shame brings me to my knees. What have I done? How much time did I waste? But, most of all... I’m intelligent, am I not? So how did this happen to me among all people? I always knew men are not to be trusted. Men lie in order to keep women tied down to their feet, men put women in shelves and use them when it suits them. Men pretend to love, pretend to care. But in the end, their notion of “we” is limited to themselves and their dicks. Also, men like to be cheated on. Men like bad girls, independent women, women that do not need them at all, so that they can crawl, and beg and chase them with nothing in return. If they say yes, they feel like they’ve won a war. Such triumph, to collect a prize like a woman that needs no man. As a result? They cannot be accused of not loving - he’s being rejected, if she says no. But still, they maintain their hands full of nothing, which is how they feel comfortable.


And I? Oh I wanted to be capable of such a love... a whole life love, a love of my life love. A fifty-year old marriage, a handful of kids, a face carved with wrinkles, the path of souls connected with the passage of time. Forever. Always and forever... and, as Vinicius de Moraes once said, it only needs to be eternal while it lasts. And I got my lesson, one that I always suspected of: I am, I’ve always been, capable of such a love. Nothing superfluous, nothing empty and nothing regular and casual. No, hand in hand means love. And love means always and forever, means giving your life for the one you love, means support and distance and sleepless nights, and worries and expectations and unconditional affection. 


Turns out that, in a way, I’m proud of myself. I’ll go through life knowing that I am capable of such a love. And I proved myself that no one would ever deserve that love (not that I meant it). So this is the reason why I’m mourning. Not that I miss the lie I was in. Not that I longer for that suffering again. I’ve been bad, I’ve been down, I’ve been dead. I’ve been misunderstood and I’ve been trifled with. I ended up alone - not physically alone, that you can choose, but spiritually alone. He doesn’t fit. No one will ever fit. No one will ever want to fit and I started to don’t want anyone to fit. But I’ll live my life - oh yes, I will. I’ll be honest, I’ll be true, but I’ll live my life. And I’m mourning the death of the only time - it took me a war and it costed me the hardest loss - that I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was going to be one of those people that is allowed to be ridiculously happy in their existence.