Szívem fájdalma :
Note: pronouns may be missing.
Woke up in the morning. Didn’t know where is. Strange feeling. To not remember. Missing the face in the mirror. Where was this wrinkle? Where from these grey shadows? Looking back in the mirrorless deep nothing. No memory of. When was born? Created? Maybe none? Maybe both? Born from…? Created with…Purpose?
Without purpose, hard to live. Fluidity of…being… Floating and floating in translucent fog. How deep? How far? How high? No. Deep down. Above everything and nothing. Between worlds. One world?
Maybe…Not sure… Is real? This dissociative world… Where is the end? Where is the beginning? Over yet? Or the start? How to know? How to find out? How to wake up?
Woke up in the morning. Didn’t know where is. Strange feeling. To forget.
Találkozunk és belefolyunk
Te ma légy irgalom,
Holnap én izzadom
Ezeket a vízcseppeket,
Melyben lelked felenged.
A tövist, mellyel
Wake up. Wash your face. Splash the sadness away. Cold water sometimes helps. But not in the depths.
Wake up. Dress up. What to wear? To show the world that you care…To show the world that you are okay. Wear a smile. Fake a smile. ‘Cause this is how you make it right.
Wake up. Move on. Start to go. Your job awaits you and now you know. Another day in the same life. How did this happen? How did you arrive?
Wake up. It’s time to shine. Let’s see that fake smile. Well done would I say, nobody can fake so well in May.
It is like a factory of lies and we are the products of it. We run the business, but we are the same robot workers. Circulus vitiosus.
We lie to ourselves every day. That it’s fine. That it’s okay. Is it? Is it good to do this daily? To fake a smile and move on gently? Where are the scars that nobody can see? Would love to show it, but why so sincere?
Nobody looks anyway, nobody cares. They are not interested in the depths of despair.
So we wake up, wash up, dress up, fake up.
This is how it made. The happy life, you know? A lie with an F.
Imagine life as you know it. Imagine it with all the physical aspects, with all its intelectual and emotional contents.
Imagine your daily life, your daily goals, your 5 year plans and what you consider the meaning of life.
Imagine it in between the walls of your home, the city in you live in, the country in which you are citizen.
Imagine your family, your friends, your pet, your colleagues and all the people, know and unknown, who you met on your way to your destination.
What would you think, if I would tell you that this life doesn’t exists? That is all just a lie, which we all tell ourselves day by day, as our life goes by. It is all just a coincidence or is it really our fate? To live like this? To meet the humans that we meet? To get touched or to get destroyed? By words or by actions? By words not said or actions not made?
Is it worth it? Why? Why not?
I always thought of life as a mass of great opportunities…Even when it didn’t look
that way. I always thought it can get better. It can be different. But I am not different. We are not different. We are all the same.
The same lie, living our ant-life day by day. Lying to ourselves. Lying to others. We celebrate life and for what? Because we will all die? Because we don’t know what will come next? Because we ignore it?
Of course, life is what you make of it. But what do you make of it? Is it the nature consequence of your choices, or is it more to that? Can you change it in any way? Or you roll between the invisible walls which are the layers of the circumstances? The circumstances with you were born with. The circumstances you didn’t choose. The invisible strings that move you. The lies you tell to yourself and others make you hear them. Are you listening? Is it really like you imagined at the beginning of this writing? Is it really like that? Your life? Or it doesn’t exist, like I told you? Is it maybe, after áll… a long, sweet, good old lie?
Did you ever feel how someone who`s dark and maybe down, resigning life, can embrace you? Without even a touch, only with a look…the embrace of that deep darkness of someone used to be forgotten or ignored or just down? I did… and I still wonder how come it can be so burning, how come in all that exhaustion of life, in all that abandoning, where did that power come? They say that melancholia is a form of painful anaesthesia, the most absurd definition…or is it? In all that absurd continuum of pain…where does that power of holding and embrace come from?
That embrace…that feels more deep than any love declaration or red rose or demostration of affection. It has nothing to prove, it just is. The embrace of darkness…that could sound a bit gothic but is as real as life. Inside all that death and abandonment what is left is given away…to whom could see. Beyond all that life ignoring and lack of meaning, when the answer to the main question seems established, when one simple look from such tired colourless eyes feels like the most haunting and unexplicable love…there the question remains: how is it possible? To feel the embrace of someone else`s dark so warm and also heavy, so unmasked and lacking in glitter, so painfully beautiful in its truth…and yet…it feels this way.
The embrace of such colourless and tired of existence eyes, which see you and see your own dark and yet they not only don`t judge you but they see exactly how you did not want to be seen. Being completely you. That embrace, of someone who doesn`t want life is more full of life than life itself…because it holds you. That embrace that doesn`t want to fix you, like everyone else…
In this world, where everyone is trying to fix everyone and call it love…as if that part of you, or me, that needs to be fixed isn`t still you or me…
And yet, someone`s darkness saw and held me, even the part I hate, even the dark I know and wanted to escape from, even when I thought I was unseen under my white unform, even under that grey that covered my sight.
It was more frightening and real and freeing than I remembered it can be…Because what someone saw and held under all the walls and prejudices and so called definition of myself, beneath all that, whatever remains, however improbable…was me.