It was
the best of my times at the time it was the worst, the age of innocence and
madness; the time of sin and forgiveness; the era of isolation and darkness;
And I, on
the verge of madness, would have repeated every day with solitude those
unforgettable times whose truth is the only one that can be affirmed with
dubious certainty.
We were
somewhere in Norway whose name I do not remember, very close to the cold
mountains and the white snow which was pure, when my madness began to take
effect. I remember that I said something like:
-I'm
lost, better guide me ...
All happy
families are the same, they are together, there is love between them, there is
always love but the unhappy are each in their own way. For example, mine began
to be when I received a telegram from my brother, whose words were like this:
"Today
Father died, I will bury tomorrow, sorry condolences"
Father
died today, or maybe last week. But he does not want to say anything, he thinks
I'm weak and I lose my sanity thanks to it, I do not know, the only thing is
that when he told me, I did not feel anything As if there was no love and
everything that I had been taught would not have existed.
I guess
things could have happened in any other way if we had not gone to war, however,
those things happened like that without being able to change them for something
better and I said:
-I Believe
things happen because we want them to happen ...
I'm so tired of hurting
and being alone. I have no control over anything in my life. But I'm not like
anyone else because I disappear much time ago, I don't regret nothing cause any
person did care about it. We can feel pain. We can die. And I won't be the one
to destroy anyone else's hopes and dreams.
Death is seductive: it
offends and teases, frightens you and draws you in, tempting you with its
promise of sweet oblivion, then overwhelming you with a nearly Luxury power,
squirming past your defenses, dissolving your will, invading the tired spirit
so utterly that it becomes difficult to recall that you ever lived without
it...or to imagine that you might live that way again.
With all the guile of Death
himself, sadness persuades you that its invasion was all your own idea, that
you wanted it all along. It fogs the part of the brain that reasons, that knows
right and wrong. It captures you with its warm, guilty, hateful pleasures, and,
worst of all, it becomes familiar.
All at once, you
find yourself in thrall to the very thing that most terrifies you. Your work
slides, your friendships slide, your family slides, but you scarcely notice.
My desolation does
begin to make any sense and can only ask to you, Can you help me
remember how to smile? Because I cant...
SEARCH YOUR OWN PERSPECTIVE
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