"The problem with romantics is that they truly believe that love is the most powerful thing. That it's worth living and dying for. That love and having loved distinguish an empty life from a complete one.

Nonsense. What they fail to remember, what they conveniently forget is that people go mad because of it. They live for the wretched sentiment and, when they've lost this one thing they only imagined they had in the first place, they shrivel up and die miserably. Aching. Empty.

It's an attachment. A foolhardy attachment to another being. And in allowing oneself to become attached to this person, one unwittingly surrenders his independence. We give the other person power to destroy whatever dysfunctional world we've created around them. And once the centre of that world goes away, the whole of our reality goes spiralling into chaos.

Building peace around a transient sentiment is merely asking for trouble. I content myself with cold, general bitterness. Dependable, constant misery. Solitude and loneliness are easy to maintain, so long as there are no interfering fools with good intentions around to destroy it."

he's totally right, of course. as always.
but. we all know what happens in the end.

es tikko pamanīju, ka kuskuss manā bildē smaida. tam ir acs, smaidīga mutīte un četri pelēki mati. vai arī pelēka sprādze un mazliet dzeltenu matu.
re. es esmu TIK pozitīva, optimistiska un visādi citādi laimīgs cilvēks. laimīga par spīti visam, par spīti tam, ka neesmu laimīga.