Love Is More Real Than God Itself

-Now, there is a time when I believe that life is going to be good all the time, everything shall be easy and things are going to work. I don't believe in that anymore. Those are superstitions that a boy has during his formative years. A man cannot hold on to such detrimental superstitions. Those unfounded optimistic notions are going to eat him alive, as they fail to realize.

-24 years old and still figuring out what to do with his life, I struggle to understand every single thing I see. I used to think I were a special boy with a mission; that is not true. Not only is it not true, but it is also egoistic in nature. That was me. I didn't know what it feels like to take care of somebody else, what it feels to be an adult. And now I know better. I am not saying I understand it all now; I doubt that anyone understands it all. That is why some questions are best left unanswered, some feelings need to be let go, and some dreams have to die. It is all for the best. But what does the 'best' really means?

-I suspect that the world is as perfect as it can be. It is perfect, with sadness, regret, fear, uncertainty; the negativity, the pain, intertwined arbitrarily with the positive emotions and the desire, form what is to be known as the humanity. Human tries to live up to their desires by facing up to their pain and fear. That is in itself, beyond any human judgment , beautiful. It is beautiful, for it is the reason of everything, and yet, it requires no meaning. It is meaningless, and yet, it is the source for what we see as living.

-But, may be I don't want it to be beautiful. Maybe, I just want to see my utmost desire fulfilled. Maybe I have only one chance at happiness. Maybe I need to make a mistake, maybe I need to go to Hell in order to have that chance fully utilized. Nobody needs it to be beautiful. In the end, it didn't matter; as long as we get to see our love requited, then beauty really doesn't matter. Meaning doesn't matter. Love is all there is to be.

-But, that is a dream that remains unfulfilled. Perhaps it is a superstition that one has to bash like religions, perhaps it is a drug. Things need to be beautiful, and my desires don't have any role, apart from being a part in this beauty, a part that needs to be crushed in order for the beauty to finally blossom and achieve perfection. I need to die to perfect my life. But not now.