stranger's disease



the same old query

why do you love him?

asking someone to describe love is as useless as asking a cat why it likes to eat fish. it is in fact, and in counter position to common beliefs, and inhuman concept. love, in all of its forms, is not a thing. is a feeling. therefore, it can't be materialized. it has no ends and probably no beginnings. 
love gestates before blossoming into the world, since when it is not, it hurts and makes the carrier think life without love is not worth living. it is a concept that I, with time and knowledge and probably some practical experience, will be able to deconstruct and define to my own needs. but the subjectivity of this possessive, obsessive, sickening behaviour makes it almost impossible for me to answer your question. 
I love him because he's been there when I couldn't see him, and then my life forced me to see him. and love was inside me, this adoration, admiration, everything mixed with a growing fear. it was the thrill of thinking that loving someone like him would give me a reason to keep up with the routine, or give in to a little more effort. 
if I fit them in this cold, deliberate frame, then my reasons for loving can be seen as completely materialistic and banal. they are not, believe me. I can't say for certain that I am in love, but surely it's something like it. 
it's something that brings me to stand up every time I want to leave and tell myself I can go through a little bit more. it's the force that brings me out of bed in order to see his face. the force that brought me into this intriguing world of arts, even if he is the less artistic person I have ever met. we are so completely different, so outdated and miscalculated, but we depend on each other in a complicated manner. and him needing me is the best thing I can ask for. all my life he's made me feel useful. and I think loving him is the only way in which I can return his adoration.

do yourself a favor, well no, do me a favor. 
never ask anyone again why they love anyone.
not unless you're in for psychological shit.
or unless you're ready to face the consequences of being exposed to the pulp and flesh of individuals, which is in all of its forms, extremely touching.

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