Maybe I’ve got it all wrong. I must have misinterpreted something, it’s too confusing to be true. Maybe I’m just an antisocial idiot, with a fancy for big words: an arrogant existentialist with a chip on my shoulder. I love myself, wretched, damned and attractive, love how big and important this unbearableness feels. What if simplicity isn’t too dumb for me? I love myself too much, I hold myself too high – am I unbearable, insufferable and vile?
I’ll just let my devious thoughts all go to hell, I’ll talk to you. Goodness knows, we might even be friends! Rejoice together, appreciate all things, the small and the big ones. Give labels and names to everything we know. For certain. Nothing will be heavy anymore. I won’t feel nauseous at the words slipping off my tongue, at the people slipping into me.
No more thumping in my ears, no more hating. Things will all be yes or no. We can talk about anything and everything, set up a firm set of morals and make them true. We can be righteous, kind and strong – certainty will prevail all! Maybe I won’t even feel …
… that scratching feel inside my gut,
saying that it makes no sense at all!