To a dog I miss…

 

To Skif…whose eyes I see when I close mine…I hope the exit is joyful and I hope never to return are the words of the dying Frida Kahlo and I can clearly hear them in my head as if they were mine. It is not to be confused with a state of despair, depression, profound sadness or any such other. Even if some are content to have found the easy way, that is adhering to a religion or philosophy that sings odes to the afterlife, I don’t see that as rising up to the occasion of life. The rules of the game have been unilaterally set forth and all we can do is cheat for a while until we get cornered. Meanwhile we search for a pair of eyes to look into and alleviate the unbearable confusion of being. We search for the eyes that carry the truth. And then we die…as many times as we lay a pair of deserted eyes into the ground. We die so many times throughout life that when our own death approaches us one day it seems nothing more than being accompanied to the nearest pub where all others have already joined the table. Yet, we silence the pain of what awaits us within this grotesque experience just like relatives prefer to keep silence about hurtful things they did to each other, covering wounds with plain jokes and loud trivial statements. To this, I hope never to return…meanwhile I raise my glass to life!

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The spoiled child within

I’ve lost a soul today. I’ve lost the sparkle that I thought belonged to me in his eyes. He is no longer defenseless when he sees me. I no longer take advantage of the warmth I thought I deserved by existing, his thoughts are someplace else.

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