Romance,
the best joke ever told in this world. John knows a thing or two about romance.
He is, after all an idealist, and what can be more utopist than romance. It's basically
something that only lives in one's head, and because our John is nothing more
than a shadow in a head, romance lives in him. He feeds from it, the same way
he feeds from the pain. Because pain is nurturing for a romantic, it's the only
possible outcome of love, and so it must keep flowing so that love can keep
existing.
Actually,
pain is the way that John's idealism materializes. He's a ghost of love, and
pain is what happens when he tries to escape in reality. Because love can't
fully conjure in the real world, it turns into pain instead so that the ghost
remains a ghost, so that it doesn't become real. After all, who would want the
ghosts to become reality. Just imagine how fucked up this world would be if out
of nowhere all of our ghosts would start to take shape and walk with us, follow
us like minions everywhere we go. Not to say that the world isn't fucked up
anyway, but that's another story. Think about it. Think about walking down the
street and seeing every John Doe, everyone with a story. " I'm John's lack
of self--esteem, pleased to meet you, would you like to walk all over me?". "I'm John's
hopeless romance, would you like to break me up into pieces and feed me to the
dogs of hate?".
So
yeah, it's better that John remains a ghost, that all the Johns and Janes are
ghosts. They follow us everywhere, but no one else can see them, no one to
bother them, no one to feed them or crush them. John is free to live his pitiful
inexistence in peace. And so is Jane. And she always was, just like he's always
been. Both free ghosts trapped in two heads, both the same and at the same so
different. Both wanting to break loose, still both fighting their way back
inside after every little breath of air they get accompanied by a merciful slap
on the face by the stone cold reality that they so desperately trying to reach.
Oh,
Jane Doe. The one. The first one. The only true romance in John's existence.
The one that brought him to life and then gently killed him as an act of
kindness. So much to know about her and yet so little to say. And even less
ever said. A love unknown by her, a selfish love, John's first love. She never
knew, and she never will, because John could never be as brave as to confront
his maker in the first place. And yet he misses her. He misses himself too. The
old John Doe, the primordial one, he wishes he could go back to that existence,
when he never even dreamt of the real world. Everything was imagination, and it
was the best love story of all.
Just take
a moment to consider. What better than to have not one, but a thousand outcomes
to a billion scenarios and to be able to live them over and over again, without
ever knowing how any of them would end in the real world. Just the purity of a
sick imagination. The real world spoils the romance, and Jane Doe remains until
this day the only true, idealistic, utopist and inexistent love of him. It may
have been the most selfish romance of all, but John Doe deeply misses it. He
just wishes he could go back. He just wants to be selfish at least once more in
his life.
