12.4.2000

"Do you really think that love is going to save your soul? I really really hope so (but I don't think so)."

Why do I do this?
No, that question is useless, I know the answer. Because there's no other way. There's no other way of living.

I'm not tired anymore, today, even if I barely slept. Not that way.
Crying, I think, is something everyone should do every once in a while. When I was a kid I used to cry in advance. You know, the night before so that everything wouldn't upset me that much. It was at least a weekly ritual. And it helped, you know. It made me feel better about myself, stronger. I didn't have any tears left the following day. At least it felt like it. Then I forgot how to do it. I mean, I really forgot.

I just couldn't cry anymore. Not really cry. There were tears, sometimes, yes but I wouldn't call it crying.
It was something I noticed occasionally. I'd be sitting at the classroom or somewhere and at some point I'd realize I was crying. I could feel the tears on my cheecks but I was always surprised to find them there. I had no idea how and when and why I had started crying.

Then it came back, at some point. Fall '98 to be precise. I wrote so much and I cried when I wrote and I knew there was no other way of doing it. No other way to try to go on a little longer. Of course it was pretty much a catastrophe. But in a way it was better. It taught me a whole lot of things about myself and the world. And, you know, things weren't that unbearable after that. Or if they were, it was different. I could trust on something that I never had had before. The way religious people trust god, I think. There was something, or someone, who kept me standing. Just the thought of him. There was no need for other things. Of course I never told him this. I didn't dare. And perhaps I was right, I don't know. I think I woke up from a long long dream that Fall. I was alive for a while again. I don't know how to describe the emptiness before it. It was like I had been sealed in a capsel, isolated behind a thick glass where I could see people but I never really was. I never really felt. I never really breathed.

B cracked that glass. Not all of it, but the first little crack and it was all I needed. After that, I could do it on my own. It was like he let me breathe again. Yes, sure, it was my own doing, the breathing, but he gave me a chance to take the first breathe. If he hadn't been there, I don't know if I had been able to do it alone.

There's a saying that goes something like, you can't love anyone unless you have been loved first. Something like that. And he gave me a piece of love. Perhaps not that kind of love the word usually represents, but love nevertheless. And that gave me a chance to take. And I'm grateful for it.

You know, sometimes just talking to people can save lives. Sometimes just being alive is enough. There's no need for you to be anything else. The rest is up to them. All we ever give to other people is a chance. A chance to be something, to become something. And that's all we need, everything there needs to be.

Index.