Wise men seem to grow old in solitude. They, understanding the world, follow thinks and feelings. Ideas. They drink the life, writing and getting some to read and listen the words savoured from their mouth in an old cafe in the most hidden street of a romantic city. Very seldom to they inspire others after their death, creating new wisdom, which in the end seems to be lonely. But not all of the wise. Sometimes, some manage to share their passion equally with their lovers until the end of their days. And yes, is an achievement because the ego is the main wall. I discovered that I did not want any other lips after Beatrix, after five more women than her. Three hell circles and the comedy of the bad loves. But not her. Actually, when she came out of the hell without me, I never knew what she wanted. Now, I fly over all hades, not to escape, but to be fascinated and terrified by the landscape. I already know how to break the spheres and escape, but by staying here, at least I don't think about my broken heart. And her? She may have her wonderful orgies with a new lover, while I think about her. It's her nature.
Loneliness in the end is a habit and also an human achievement. The reality of supporting oneself, without the excuse of the other. See yourself in the mirror and love yourself, without the sadness of expecting to be loved by another. Freedom? No, it is not possible to be so optimistic either. However, it is the beginning to understand the human itself. The individual out of the prison in the natural environment of the ideas. Tuesday night, and to say that it was like kissing a statue was not the best thing, because the good word really was to say that it was like a monument. However, she was porcelain and she did not want to break it. Sure he would because he did not love her and would not believe that he would love her, although he could desire her and make her have the orgasms that she herself sought every night before going to sleep. And the danger was that she would love him, for the egoists, an human achievement.
Correct language does not help liberation much. And some standardised languages, stop any attempt at revolution, being the same word revolution a forbidden word. Then, each human to be in tranquility, as individual chooses silence. The internal voice, however, insists in the liberation words and ideas searching the common responsibility. Even if the fear is common and the desires, the fault is for the other. The guilty. I would like to have the possibility of being in front of you, our knees touching. Both in silence, just looking at each other. But the things that are for others are not my reality. Nothing for me or for ours. May be, for you with the new lover (not me) and all the rest of them that deserves the fights you never had for me. Why? Tired of fighting against all destiny and wounded, no reason, I do not deserve. But I don't hate you, and neither do I. I am only disappointed. And all my love And all my love turns to desire. Sad.
Each human flees to his own silence equal. It is unbearable because many times there is nothing to say, because everything has been said. Maybe the other's word helps, or just their gaze, but it's not there. It is gone, as it usually happens. And it is not a question that it is already too late, no. Only it was not wanted and any excuse is valid to justify or explain the will. It is not victimisation, it is quite the opposite, a real human achievement. She desired him and loved him, but she had been taught to remain arrogant and assertive. They would always be after her, because she was beautiful and would remain like all the princesses of the mountains and the sea. She would secretly cry her disappointment, even though he inspires her and gives her a reason for all the in-reasons. She loved him, but she couldn't scream it out. Her voice was drowned out by the howling of the wolves in the jungle."
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