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Пишет larvatus (![[info]](http://lj.rossia.org/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} larvatus)@ 2005-05-22 03:24:00 |
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soulless cunt
Would you like to know why you feel this way? Allow me to explain.
I am thinking of the occasion of your calling me a soulless cunt. For all my anger, I was charmed by your linguistic shift. The common designation of a heartless bitch might have been more to the point in returning the favor. The point is not to gainsay your feelings. Every living woman feels something or other. Accusing her of lacking a heart is not meant to set her apart from the herd in this regard. It is meant to point out her failure to feel responsibly.
You prattle on and on about my affinity with death. You tell me that you want me dead. Others have accused me of composing suicide notes. Nothing going. My sense of responsibility encompasses the stewardship of my gifts. I will not quit my station wilfully. But neither will I suffer your flippancy in silence.
You stalked me for eighteen months and came to me as a booty call. Then you took umbrage at my efforts to accommodate you in the vaginal line. You praised my genius while refusing to make any accommodation for my standing apart from salarymen. You deemed me unmarriageable while doing everything within your power to foreclose the chances of marriage. You blamed my father for your choice to abort our child, and blamed me for exhausting him unto death, and you into hysteria. You make it impossible for a man to love you, then feign surprise when he tries to hate you. And then you complain. You complain that you miss me terribly. You cannot explain and you cannot forget. Maybe you like pain? Maybe you hate yourself also? Pain is always more real than happiness, and you believe it is true for everybody. It is impossible for you to fall in love with anyone new no matter how much you wanted. It is almost like you fell in love with someone on the moon. But my closeness deep in your soul can in no way be compared with anybody else you know. In the darkness and night, I am in your heart, I am part of you. I might have been living your life; was that why you felt so close to me? That is your story. But you have no guts to stick to it.
Do you have the guts to do anything right by anyone else? When was the last time you acted responsibly towards me? Four times in our relationship I gave you plenty of room for a graceful exit. You whined and cajoled and manipulated me into taking you back. The last time you did it after my father’s death. What was your excuse? You never bothered to make one up in evincing the meremost inkling of shame upon being confronted with this evidence of your selfishness. Far from being “blindly opmistic”, you are plain blind.
I kept believing that there is something in you, and between us, worth salvaging. I had to believe it as an alternative to reinterpreting you as a black star that radiates her suffering upon everyone unfortunate enough to be drawn into her orbit.
I think not. I offered you plenty of chances to see things my way, by choosing happiness over pain. Your refusal defines your character in one fell swoop. There will be no going back.
Subject: mz
From: cthroo@hotmail.com
Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2005 19:18:30 -0800
To: cthroo@hotmail.com
We Are Couple
Miss you
like never before
it is not something of hope
in the end of the world
we lend heat to each other
we are couple
we are all damaged somehow
hoping to find a way to survive the world
only i am more blindly opmistic
you are a luxurant book of death
sound scarely dark
that was why I run
i run
i can not run away from missing you
Would you like to know why you feel this way? Allow me to explain.
I am thinking of the occasion of your calling me a soulless cunt. For all my anger, I was charmed by your linguistic shift. The common designation of a heartless bitch might have been more to the point in returning the favor. The point is not to gainsay your feelings. Every living woman feels something or other. Accusing her of lacking a heart is not meant to set her apart from the herd in this regard. It is meant to point out her failure to feel responsibly.
You prattle on and on about my affinity with death. You tell me that you want me dead. Others have accused me of composing suicide notes. Nothing going. My sense of responsibility encompasses the stewardship of my gifts. I will not quit my station wilfully. But neither will I suffer your flippancy in silence.
You stalked me for eighteen months and came to me as a booty call. Then you took umbrage at my efforts to accommodate you in the vaginal line. You praised my genius while refusing to make any accommodation for my standing apart from salarymen. You deemed me unmarriageable while doing everything within your power to foreclose the chances of marriage. You blamed my father for your choice to abort our child, and blamed me for exhausting him unto death, and you into hysteria. You make it impossible for a man to love you, then feign surprise when he tries to hate you. And then you complain. You complain that you miss me terribly. You cannot explain and you cannot forget. Maybe you like pain? Maybe you hate yourself also? Pain is always more real than happiness, and you believe it is true for everybody. It is impossible for you to fall in love with anyone new no matter how much you wanted. It is almost like you fell in love with someone on the moon. But my closeness deep in your soul can in no way be compared with anybody else you know. In the darkness and night, I am in your heart, I am part of you. I might have been living your life; was that why you felt so close to me? That is your story. But you have no guts to stick to it.
Do you have the guts to do anything right by anyone else? When was the last time you acted responsibly towards me? Four times in our relationship I gave you plenty of room for a graceful exit. You whined and cajoled and manipulated me into taking you back. The last time you did it after my father’s death. What was your excuse? You never bothered to make one up in evincing the meremost inkling of shame upon being confronted with this evidence of your selfishness. Far from being “blindly opmistic”, you are plain blind.
I kept believing that there is something in you, and between us, worth salvaging. I had to believe it as an alternative to reinterpreting you as a black star that radiates her suffering upon everyone unfortunate enough to be drawn into her orbit.
I think not. I offered you plenty of chances to see things my way, by choosing happiness over pain. Your refusal defines your character in one fell swoop. There will be no going back.
