Thursday, 8 November 2012

John the sentimentalist

Love sucks. Ask John Doe, he can tell you that much, and trust me, he’s been trough enough so do not try to argue with him. He’s not thinking about his concept of love when he says that tough. No, his idea of love is great. His love is supreme and sublime, it’s that feeling that makes you forget what life is and not care that you did so. John is in love with this idea of love, being full aware of the fact that he will never be able to reach it, not even come near it, not even touch it with his fingertips at least. But this doesn’t concern him, he still craves the impossible, feeding his idealism with illusions and utopia.
And that’s why, for John Doe, love sucks. We’re talking about the true love, the love that floods the world we live in with romance and cliché. John hates the love we all so much enjoy to promote, that fuzzy gooey feeling that is supposed to invade the hearth and somehow give it wings or something. That obsessive necessity of saying “I love you” every five or so minutes just so you can hear it back, making you grow e few inches of self esteem every time you do hear it. That’s bullshit, nothing but lies, nothing but illusions followed by deception and sorrow. Been there, done that.
For John, there is no gooey feeling, there are no wings to fly. The butterflies don’t rumble around in his belly, they’re killed by the gastric acid. Yeah, love’s a bitch. True love is never the one that makes you happy. If loves means happiness to you, than to John, you are just another fool, a brick in the wall. For John, love means pain and suffering, from the beginning until the end. Loves bites, every time it gets a chance, and John gave it all the chances in the world until now. Love scared him, and it never made him stronger, it just made him numb. That doesn’t bother him. If love is made to hurt, than so be it. At least it makes you feel something. Something real, not a delusion that blows away like a bubble of soap at the smallest pale of wind.
Yes, it’s true, John Doe is condemned to a life full of misery by his own beliefs and concepts. His mind created a world full of ideas and emptied of realities. The only thing that’s left is to continue to survive in the real world, and wait until the time is right to crawl back into his little soul, facing away from everything that’s real. At least his reality is honest, not full of crap like everyone else’s. It’s filled with grief and sorrow, but at least it’s not resentful, and that’s the only thing that matters. John Doe might be a cynic, but at least he’s not a hypocrite. Thank God for that.  

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