A good part of adolescence is just teenagers talking about love, breakups, fights, making out, making up and the fantasy that is called love. I listen, tilt my head with approval and try to sympathize with them. There’s a small, forced smile plastered on my face. What can I tell them?
In the morning, walking towards my school, this dreadful feeling tightens my chest together every time I see couples at the corner of the streets. Beautiful teens that express their love towards one another. How should I react? The node in my throat stops any words coming from my mouth. I can hear my thoughts.
” They’re kissing, ah they’re kissing again. They’re kissing everywhere, on the corner of the street, on the bench, in the library. Just like the kids is beyond any other power.”
You’d think they are trying to express democracy of kissing. The Liberalism of the kiss.
I pass them, I avert my eyes in embarrassment , aware that I’m intervening into their intimate moment, something that I’m not allowed to do in my position. As if my eyes linger on them one more second they’ll look at me with their… vampire like, lustful eyes. I see hatred in their eyes yet they are so in love they don’t even know it, as long as they are in love. They don’t notice me. This time I was lucky and got away, but for how long?
Be brave, I tell myself, avoiding them. I’m transparent.
I explain my feelings by verses like mad men do
” you do this, and how beautiful death is
even the saints know
that hell is the inability to feel love
Numbed by the illusion of love, my facade falls apart. Reality comes down on me. Who’s the parasite here?
They, the ones from the cafes, from the pubs, from the cinema , all of them are infected by love. To be precise, they are people that traded their solitude for something else. They belong to something or someone.
Analyzing them, you notice similarities. It’s a syndrome that serves both parties. And that’s why, they accept you; they comfort you just because they want to reaffirm their disease, love. They’re just boosting their own ego.
To be different from them, means to be against them.
There is another way: live through them. Basically, I am them. I feed myself on their hope, dreams. The war is silent between the lonely people and we keep on going. For the lonely it’s all the same. Just a mass of faces, judging you. No one wins, no one loses.
The lonely already won. Because he lost everything, earning his eternity.
But the lovers? They’ll live out their utopia and maybe it’s better that way.
If you agree with out thought maybe you should check out this article out!