Hyperbolic Floccinaucinihilipilification

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In all of the disturbing other parallel universes out there, it is the most unlikely sign to impose upon me this universe where there is only but a parallel us: that the only course where things are possible is the only one where we don’t meet.

You have checked this out too, haven’t you?

And how can we not tarry over these possibilities? It would be too late if we realize it outside their bounds. The way I see it, it is only either I keep up on this never meeting course or I plot the nastiest of all rewiring deviations to finally meet you in the end; no realizations, no expectations – just to do it to show myself that life shouldn’t be like this, never knowing that in the end I might curse the plot myself with an endless ‘I told you so’ half-hearted chagrins.

You’d also probably add to that infinity to me then, seeing how my life was a useless point for nothing. You’d probably feel pity over the life I have chosen to live trying to keep up with you and follow you throughout your days. And perhaps in an angered tone you’d scold me about how I was warned a lot of times by your self-deprecating predilections. ‘Because there’s but no way that I can ever complete you’ – your speech will go. The saddest part is that I know that all too well beforehand.

I clearly don’t know what this is because this is honestly making me fucking crazy! It’s the most illogical sense that I can ever recognize in my entire life. This course towards my own damnation – why does everybody call it love?!

There must be some other word to describe this self-destructive and most irrational of all obsessions with a person I don’t even want to know; because it scares me, it’s scary to end this one and it’s scary to see the real you, fall in love with you more, and make myself worse.

Is this belief? Is this the undying hopelessness to something I keep on resting my hope for?

There is a safer track in all this and that is of course the parallelism that detracts us in our negative charges. Both of us are melancholic, both are willing to deceive ourselves just to sway a bit farther from the existential horror haunting us. Someone has to play positive to attract the other; at least in our case, I see you as something positive to get me attracted, and the irony will surely haunt me in the end: when I’m starting to feel good about chasing you, I might find myself dismayed.

Believe me, I have checked this over and over, and the result is always disappointing:

If I keep on feeling down (negative) and you keep on feeling down (negative), nothing will happen between us.

If I am feeling down (negative) but starting to get determined to be inspired by you (positive), you will spite me by letting me know my position, perhaps by ignoring me or letting me know that I am chasing a false positive.

If I am so inspired (positive) and I keep on improving myself just for you, you’d repel (negative) and ditch me because you’d feel undeserved or unready, and the timing will always fall us out.

And the remaining chance will dawn upon me, this unfortunateness of last resorts, that the only way that this could work is for me to focus on improving myself (positive) and for you to focus on improving yourself as well (positive). All good isn’t it? We look bright on paper. We shine where and when we want to. We’d find redemption some place else. We’d be better off without each other. And then what? And then what, love? And then what…?

Jan

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