John Doe had died. But it wasn’t the end of his story. No, his story is yet to be written, and the ending is far from the past and even more distant from the present. John’s fist death was just one of the many events that colored his intermittent existence with tragedy and suspense. Death is, after all, the only thing that makes our life worth living.
Anyways back to our business. So John was dead, killed by the breaking of the innocence of youth, and everything was going great in the world, the earth was spinning, revolving around the sun, the rivers were flowing, the children were growing, and the former child, with his broken image of the reality he was living in, evolved and became a teenager. The braded girls with flowers in their hair grew along with him, changing their innocence for beauty and mystery, learning how to steal hearts and burry them where the rightful owner could never find them again.
In this pathetic context, our traumatized friend, John Doe, made his second appearance into the world. It took a great deception to kill John, and it took an even greater one to bring him back, to disturb him from his peaceful nothingness and make him arise from his own ashes. And he came back to find only misery and pain, or at least that’s what he thought at first. We all know John is an idealist, and he was never anything less than this. He always dreamt of a superior love, an absolute love, even from before he even knew what that is. And on his second chance at life, he found it once again. He fell in love, and he loved from a distance, afraid to get to close, afraid to ruin the mystery, hoping he won’t wake up on a random morning realizing his love was fake or below absolute. But he had no idea who he was falling in love with.
She, well she was not your everyday type of girl. She had her share of happiness in this life, she had her share of sorrow, and in this sorrow John Doe made his appearance. At first he was just trying to get close, become a good friend. He saw her misery and thought he ought to do something to change it, because it’s well known that no beautiful girl is supposed to suffer. And day by day, he managed to break the sadness, overwhelm the depression, or at least that’s what he thought. He was oh so very wrong. She wasn’t the type of girl that could be healed, she wasn’t waiting for a savior, for a prince charming on his white horse to love her to the moon and never come back. On the contrary, she was as John had never expected her to be. She was like him.
That’s right, she was the same as John, she had the idealism, the misery, the broken reality, everything he was made of was a part of her. She was, if I may say, his Jane Doe. Yes, that’s what we’ll call her, Jane Doe. John was getting closer to her, finding more and more about her suffering, about her ideas and concepts of life, and he was unwillingly falling for her, throwing himself into a vicious circle with no escape. Hopelessly living their joined misery, him in love with her, her in love with another, both knowing they will never reach their ideal, both willing to give themselves up to the undercurrents, they grew close, understood each other, felt sorry for each other and happy for themselves, knowing they aren’t the only broken individuals in the world.
Jane never knew who John’s big crush was, she never had a clue he loved her, he craved for her and her twisted little soul. She didn’t realize he was feeding on her disillusions, and she started to let them go, thus making John’s life harder and harder. He never had a chance with her, he knew that very well, but he tried to linger by her side, just so he could love in silence, not being bothered by anything or anyone. In the end though, time said its word and took its tribute. John and Jane grew apart, both going their separate ways, and John kept fading, loosing his purpose in the world, until disaster stroke again. John died the second time, leaving the teenager in his sick and perverted reality, without any pillar to lean on. And the teenager gave up on his dreams, he put away his illusions, burying the idealism deep inside his shattered soul.