2001-09-27
Only one e-mail left to read. I think I'll take it phrase at a time.
" I'm not sure if you realise that I fall in love very easily
Yes, I realize. Most people do that. So do I.
" I don't think that makes the emotion shallow or anything..."
No, it doesn't.
" you'd think it's a good thing (for me) because I could quickly find another partner, but then people don't always respond and it takes me quite a while to fall *out* of love again"
The same with everyone. I don't expect anything of you, I hope you realize that.
" So I'm not ever going to believe again that I've found my "one true love", but I could become involved with any of a lot of people."
So?
" In a way it's first come first served, I suppose. I'm desperately clingy and willing to marry anyone not to be alone. That doesn't mean I don't love you. I do. Ack, hope this makes some sense at least."
Well, it doesn't, really. But that doesn't matter either.
So, step by step, through an email that doesn't make me any more informed. Does it really matter ? I don't think so. I hope you grasp it. I don't really care, anyway. It's easier to be an outcast. It's easier to be alone. You'd probably never realize that. I think so anyway. I wouldn't be the one to marry anyone, just out of pure loneliness. Sometimes I don't get you. Sometimes I think I do. Mostly not, though. You're different from me in many ways.
I don't think I'd marry you even if you asked me to. Perhaps that's the difference. Perhaps that's something entirely different. But I've been alone all my life, and I'll always be. It doesn't bother me. I can't imagine sharing a life with anyone. I don't want to do that.
It makes me feel like choking to even think of that. That's the initial difference. Somehow I'm not satisfied with you. I thought you could do better than this. I thought that maybe you'd be special, but I see you're not. Instead, you're quite strange. I don't care to trust you. I don't care to know you. I don't care to love you. I don't want to care about you. But you still appeal to that voice inside me that says "be kind to everyone". So I have a profound kindness in me, a soft spot, for you, as well as for everyone. It doesn't mean I'd care less about you. It's just... I care about you in a way that's not compatible. A way that doesn't matter, in a sense. It's more of an instinct than anything else. It isn't love, perhaps not even friendship. Just the same old "be kind to everyone and especially to the wounded" mantra.
So... what I want to say is... I can sometimes be something entirely different than the other times. I'm nothing, really. I'm nothing other people could grasp. And I'm so... sure that I'm different in this sense. Not from you, but from everyone. Most people anyway. I'm not willing to be a part of that game other people seem to play. And yet, I do share something with them. And I do get trapped in that game, and I do make mistakes more often than not.
Yet, I can be, maybe, symphatetic. I can be cruel also. I will love you as long as you need me to love you. But when I get the chance, I'll stop loving you. Because it's not in my nature to love anyone. And I know from experience that I can do that, I can be ruthless and cruel and firm with almost anyone, and if I need to, I'll burn the bridges behind me. And I'll never love you again, maybe not even think of you without shuddering with disgust. I can do that. I've done that.
I'm quite sure I could charm almost anyone. I have faith in that, so maybe I can. And I do care less about other people than I care about myself. I'm cold. I don't... I can love you and hate you at the same time. I should be schizophrenic but I'm not. Or perhaps I am. Perhaps I'm a psychopath. You wouldn't realize this, because you're not me. I can do everything, yet I'm capable of nothing. Most people probably don't get this contradiction. I can be so nice, and then I can hate you a split second later. In the end, I don't really care about anything. I'm just acting in this little play that doesn't feel like mine. I don't think I should be on the platform. I'm playing my part, yet I know it's only a show. It doesn't matter to me. Nothing matters to me. I'm as cold as a reptile. And yet, sometimes, there's a human yearning inside me. That thing that has needs and wants and everything. But it's not me, most of the time. Most of the time I'm this creature inside a mask, improvising a play that never meant to be created. I feel forlorn and I feel alien and no one notices. And the play just goes on and on and on, and I never really care. I feel satisfied when an emotion rises its head inside me. Because it happens so rarely, because it happens almost never.
So, what am I to do? Nothing, I suppose. I don't think this made any sense at all. But that doesn't matter. And nothing ever does. And I'm magic, yeah.