You picked up the pieces, glued them together, and walked away. Is there any other more intense form of cruelty disguised in the form of the verisimilitude of kindness, self-sacrificial kindness that propagates itself within oneself like the vilest parasite, feeding inside into the very core and implodes one from functioning as an impeccable whole? I cannot affect any blame on you; I always knew you were an exponent of Hobbes or perhaps because you have always been my Ophelia.
No frills attached, it leaves one with a childhood longing which stems from inheritance of knowledge of what had been and it encumbers one in a state of helplessness in which Eliot describes as one’s long-time emotional palette of shades of melancholy degenerating into a kaleidoscope of raw extremes- extremes in which one flirts briefly but intensely with paranoia, anger, self-pity, self-doubt and a sense of hopelessness.
I do not ask you to stay with me. Just be elusive but do not walk far. Write this down on a piece of paper and keep it hidden inside the darkest recess of your wallet or whisper it sotto voce to the gentleness of your heart from time to time and maybe, just maybe this broken vase will not remain so broken. Even if you do not, tell me you did. As Shakespeare once said in Macbeth:
"Oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tells us truths;
Win us with honest trifles, to betray us
In deepest consequence."
After all, what man so courageous, can muster the strength to deny the truth of the paradox that living inside the light of a lie is a better alternative than being betrayed by darkness of the truth?
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