Prison Break

Love is a cruel thing to suffer if no one can ever know. In fact, you will never truly understand the words ‘so close and yet so far’ unless you love someone you are not supposed to love. It doesn’t go away, it taints everything you say and do, it rules your thoughts and emotions while you have to keep up a facade, always pretending you are all right. It requires all your energy to focus on not letting your tongue slip – or look at the person in a betraying manner –, you cannot even mention a name. One misstep may cost you everything, judged and branded and dismissed for ever. The cruelst part of it is that both of you are going to die without the other ever knowing you loved them – truly, madly, deeply, utterly, totally, absolutely, uncompromisingly, undeniably, irrefutably, unreasonably, and irresponsibly.
On a personal note, I love you more than you could ever imagine to be loved, but you are lost to me now. Your rare and delicate smiles are the only light I need in the darkness of my dreams, but I’m a tree with routes running deep in the ground, and I could never hope to reach and be with you even if I grew wings. You will never learn of the tenderness I felt and still feel towards you; you will never learn of the priceless joy that overcame me when I genuinely made you smile, delicate flower that you’ve always been. For regardless of how close you still may be, you are lost to me now, and thus will remain oblivious for ever to the insane love I bear you. For it is madness that I should love you the way I do if it meant both our ruin. You are lost to me now, and thus I am left to scream my throat out in this soundproof prison of heart and mind. You are lost to me now, and so the veil of the night slowly enshrouds me. You are lost to me now, for I shall never see your face again. You are lost to me now – and I am lost without you.

China in the Void

‘I feel lost inside my own skin’, I wrote.
It is not like a prison –
I am just all over the place –;
not like ashes scattered to the wind –
I just extend indefinitely.
I cannot get a hold of anything –
it keeps floating
like ethereal china
in an endless void.

The Life of the Intellectual

There is nothing so cruel as to see things for what they are. The intellectual is enslaved by loneliness because his or her understanding is a barrier beyond which no other human being can reach. He or she must serve the truth, knowing there will be no escape from within his or her prison. And since the truth is the last thing anyone likes to hear, no one will ever even so much as attempt to free him or her from outside.