.: razz review::.
It’s human instinct really, to struggle so much when everything seems so desperately hopeless. It really is odd how we grasp for life, and grapple with death, merely for the sake of living, even when we have nothing left to live for. Of course I had contemplated death so many times before, but naturally I could never pull through with it, not once. Actually, I never even got close.
I also believe it’s odd how I always went after him, relentlessly, how bitter I was towards him but still I sought him out. I wasn’t even sure if he was alive for the majority of the time I searched for him. Maybe I always searched, not because I meant to find, but because it would be something to live for, an excuse that I should still exist, a reason that I should have more of a role in life, more of a role than being a vessel for a rather obnoxious being.
Or maybe it was because I wanted to blame something other than myself for what happened to my world, maybe I wanted to stick all the blame on him and just pound him for it, for all I had lost. Maybe I just wanted to beg for forgiveness, to share the blame with him.
I think it might be more than probable that I was seeking some sort of familiarity, some type of comfort that I knew well. That my heart knew and could understand better than anything else, just maybe I wanted to be forgiven, accepted by someone who knew, by someone who could understand.
The heart, it seems, is a very complicated thing. I don’t even understand my own most of the time. Hell, the voice in my head knew my heart a lot better than I did, and as such found it easy to manipulate me when it wanted to.
I hated him for abandoning me. I hated him for the ache I felt every time I thought of him. I hated him because it as exhausting to hate only myself, and I couldn’t bring myself to unjustly hate those who had tried so hard for me.
But somehow, by some cruel trick of fate, I could still love him for who he was, despite the resentment I felt towards him. I loved him because I always had, because he had stayed by my side even though he had gained nothing from it, until he left that is.
No matter the reason, and in spite of the clashing emotions, I went after him. What I would do once I found him I never really knew. I wanted to kill him, make him suffer as I had, but somewhere in my heart I always felt doubt towards the idea, I had no logical reason as to why, he did deserve it… didn’t he?
But did I have the strength to curl my fist into a fist and strike him with all I had when I saw him, if I saw him? I wasn’t sure.
Even though I wanted to live, I wanted nothing to do with life. Nothing to do with those who saved me, nor did I want anything to do with the voice in my head or the power I’d acquired, I didn’t want anything more to do with the people I met, I wanted to distance myself between everyone and everything but him. For him I only wanted to close the gap that separated us, if he were alive I’d find him, if he were defiantly dead; I too would make attempts at suicide, and in time join him.
How could I have gotten tangled up in everything?
How is it that even though no one, save for one, could come close to comprehending all that I had gone through, they wanted to stick by and help me? Why did they do all they did for me when all I would do in return was abuse them or dump them completely?
I think it’s safe to say this isn’t a happy story, not really.
After all, it’s a story about me and ‘it’.
After all, it’s about all the suffering I could possibly bear, all the hardships I went through, all the guilt that I felt.
After all I, alone, had single handily destroyed a world.
After all, the only thing I ever did, in my heart, was chase sorrow.
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