solitude

Love, soulfood

*I was cleaning up my hard drive and found this that I never let free into the world. It’s interesting more than heart breaking 2 years later.*

You still haunt me: a book review.

solitude

I’ve been reading this book for a few weeks. I read another twice since I started. The beginning had me reading though the cracks in my finger it was that uncomfortable. Yesterday I read most of it. Because it seemed like it might have an answer for me. Like I could come to terms with whatever the life lesson was in this book. Pretend that the plot really unfolded in my own life and move on. Or at least have a direction to or not to take.

I read the last page, closed it and tried to explain to a 4 year old why it was so disappointing. We concluded it that it sucked. It did. It had no conclusion and no sequel. Long story short there were 2 passages that made it all worth reading.

But now that Mattia was there in front of her, with his eyes closed over thoughts to which she had no access, everything suddenly seemed clearer: she had looked for him because she needed to, because since the night she had left him on that landing, her life had rolled into a hole and hadn’t moved from there. Mattia was the end of that tangle that she carried within herself, twisted by the years. If there was still some chance of untying it, some way of loosening it, it was by pulling that end that she now gripped between her fingers.

With her thumb in his mouth he had looked up at her, with those disarming eyes that Alice couldn’t resist. Then he had closed the wound in his hand and kissed Alice on the mouth. She had tasted her own blood in his saliva and imagined that it had circulated throughout her husband’s body and come back to her cleaned, as though through dialysis.There had been that time and there had been an infinite number of others, which Alice no longer remembered, because the love of those we don’t love in return settles on the surface and from there quickly evaporates . 


That last was worth all of the pages.

Real love fucks you up. It’s all that I can remember. The memories, the hurt, the smiles, the happiness of everyone else fades so quick. I barely even feel it. And it doesn’t feel bad to walk, stomp or run away. There probably will never be a conclusion. I don’t know that there will ever be another. I can smell a bad imitation from a mile away. Sometimes loneliness makes me weak, makes me willing, but it’s always a lie. At least I’m learning to cut my losses early.

I need a men in black stick.

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