What have I become
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away
In the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
The creator. His books enriched him. But he does not like them and he decides to write his masterpiece. He writes it alone and reworks it endlessly. And little by little, embarrassment then misery set in. Everything collapses and he lives with an alarming happiness. The children are sick. He has to rent an apartment, but live in only one part of it. He writes. His wife becomes depressed. The years pass, and in total abandon, he proceeds. The children flee. The day his wife dies at the hospital, he places the final period, and what should announce his misfortune to him only makes him say, “Finally!”
There’s a glow of light shining through my window. A beacon leading me away from this place. Sooner or later, I’m going to realize I wasted my life trying to fix myself. I don’t think I ever was broken. It can’t help. Speaking never helps. Speaking only breaks hearts. Speaking ends friendships. Speaking tears the tree out by the roots so that it can no longer cling to its foundation. Speaking causes the death of innocence.
No, it’s in my decision to hide. I’ve decided that in order to not hurt those who I love and those who love me, is to hide from them. That way I don’t have to face the facts that I have failed them. Am I wrong?
I e-mailed Emmy about my situation. If there is a kind person in the radius of my circle, it’s Emmy. Not that those who are in my circle aren’t kind, but I know my words cannot hurt her and her words cannot hurt me. I don’t have to see the pain in her eyes because there wasn’t any expectations that I need to live by.
I’ll bury myself in literature. My grave will be the collected poems that I’ve written since my pen first met paper. I will not be satisfied with myself until I leave this place.