What is there beyond the border? What hides behind the horizon? Maybe the raising sun, or the cold and pale moon, or a new horizon, even more distant. What lies beyond the borders of heart, of feelings? When pain becomes too immense for bearing it another second and our soul trembles under its weight; when love turns so lacerating that the spirit burst into flames, after the last embers have gone out, the heart breaks. What is left then? I know the answer: nothing. Where the sweeping currents of love and pain converge, that’s exactly where I am resting now, staring at the mesmerizing, raging waters, but unable to hear the din, my head is blunt.

I do not feel anything. I cannot feel anything.

The irony is that, not so long ago, tortured by my feelings, forced into a corner like a beaten dog, I was imploring, shouting at them to leave me alone, to set me free from their rotten, bloodstained chains. And now, that I’ve been apparently realeased at last, I miss them so badly. I don’t want to stop suffering because of your love, it’s the only way I know of being alive, it’s the only way that something within my ribs moves. But before I used to dream your hand with my hand, and it was beautiful, it was meaningfull, it had to be. However, now that image is not so sharp as it was, it’s slowly fading into mist, I have to close my eyes to evoke it and, even so, it’s still at the other side of the universe inside my mind. And the nights alone, they aren’t that lonely. And the winter, it’s not so melancholic. And literature, it isn’t so painful. And losing you… oh, the world wouldn’t end for you. That’s the saddest thing of all. Even this emptiness is comforting, because I don’t have a heart anymore, just despair and bitterness.

But yet, I may still feel something for you and, as the poet once said, “I don’t want you to go, pain, last way of loving”.

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