Thursday, July 25, 2024 13:46

At the end of soul

There are kinds of people who can sleep just fine when they do something wrong, evil, immoral. There are people who do not care if the mistake inevitably results in material damage or havoc soul, who can keep a smile on their lips when the others discover the damage they have done intentionally or unintentionally, or, worse, when the injured ones require an explanation no matter how small for the dagger stuck and twisted. At the opposite end, people who would levitate if they could, so they do not step on pins, do not step wrongfully, do not to step over. People obsessed with, and always anxious not to hurt anyone. And when yet this occurs, people for whom sleepless nights follow, red eyes, dark thoughts or tears, worried tachycardias and nervous fingers.

In the middle, people who do not think, or who, post-facto, ask themselves the (totally misplaced and useless) question “I wonder where my mind was when I…..”. People who neither have the sick desire to harm, nor have the obsession of doing well all the time, who do not understand themselves, once the rupture occurs. These kind of people are experts at losing the most valuable things or the most loved persons, most often for the most stupid reasons. People who later regret, the more so as they are well aware that nothing can be fixed anymore, that time can not be returned, that asking for forgiveness is not always enough, that wounds can not be erased even with a whole pile of good deeds previous or preceding the unthinking event.

It hurts even more when you find out that the person to whom you were wrong forgave you. All for the more to be ashamed to look her in the eyes, to argument a deed which cannot be argumented, to ask for forgiveness of an unforgivable deed. You feel your cheeks red with shame for your mistake, red with anger for your own stupidity. And the admiration and respect brought as offering to the person that forgave you increase exponentially, once with the regret of not ever having the courage to look in her eyes again.

It hurts even more when you are feverishly looking for a single thought, a word, a rebuke phrase, a letter of indignation from the injured party, an outlet, a way to show her disagreement, disappointment, anger, repulsion towards what you have destroyed, anything!, and there is nothing to find, for that person had the strength of character not to descend to your level, to rise and move forward, considering that you do not even deserve her disapproval. You would prefer a thousand daggers stuck into your chest, hard words, slaps over cheeks, anything, but not this forgiveness that eats you almost as much as conscience can chew inside.

Quote from a recently seen movie:

“-Why are you leaving?”
“It’s like I’m reading a book, and it is a book for which I have a deep respect. But I read more slowly now. And the words are increasingly more remote, and the space between them is almost infinite. I can still feel you… and the words of your story… but now I find myself more and more in this endless space between words. It’s a place that is not related to the material word. It’s the place where anything else exists, the place I didn’t even know it exists. I love you immensely. But this is the place where I am now. And this is what I am now. And I need you to let me go. As much as I would like this, now I can not live in your book anymore…”

“I’m sorry!” carries, indeed, all the weight of the whole world on its back.



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