What if the perfect girl was in love with me? I thought about it this morning. Beautiful. Intelligent. Hard-working. Honest. Kind. Blah blah blah. What if there was some way we could have a little place to ourselves, in a remote countryside without too many people — somewhere with rolling hills and trees, and sunlight.
I realized, even if all this could be mine, I would turn away from it. Truly and genuinely, not because of the sour grapes fable, but because even in the perfect situation, with the perfect person, I know that the status quo is suffering. There is no happiness, there is no unity, and there is no long-lasting love. Love itself is a lie, just like hope, just like happiness. Illusions and daydreams.
Even the meager happiness of that perfect existence would be washed away by a bad seed, a quarrel, a small argument, or boredom…something sour would spring from our personalities. Something poisonous. Something caustic. And then everything would break. There have been too many cycles.
It’s strange how the heart ignores the mind once you want someone. Once you instinctually desire them. She’s into you, you’re into her, and naturally you find yourself flirting. Even through your depression. Even through your hatred. Yet the truth remains. The truth of this hatred. The truth of this mistrust, this despair, this pain. It cannot be erased with a little desire.
She likes my high cheekbones, maybe she likes my unkempt hair. Maybe she likes the way I speak, or my smile, or my honesty. Maybe she likes the fact that I make her laugh. It doesn’t matter. She’s seeing an illusion, and so she dreams the same dream I dream, a pipe dream. Nothing more.
She does not dream of my pain. She does not dream of my hatred. Or my distrust. Or my misanthropy. And I do not dream of her shallowness, her fragility, her manipulative tendencies, her socializing.
Two people, but we are so far apart, and we will never understand one another. What a waste.