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A Parallel Universe For Us

it hurts me that I can not show you my love in its entirety because that requires you to feel the same…

When I see you, my words become numb, and I can not avoid seeing you in the eyes, thinking that maybe in some parallel universe with its myriad possibilities, we are together. A universe in which a sequence of events have occurred perfectly that led to the love of my parallel self-being reciprocated by your parallel you, even there’s a possibility that your parallel self, had fallen in love with my parallel self and it was unrequited. Obviously, these are just ramblings of a poor man with nothing more than that, the imagination. Because the truth is that while it hurts like a cut of the sword of Damocles, you do not love me. I could spend every day and night repeating it myself to convince me that this does not affect me, that when you see me, you don’t know what I see in you, knowing that I have no choice but to imagine parallel universes to appease the pain of my heart. Wasting myself in an ocean of tears that, though vast, is not as great as the ocean of grace in which I get lost when I am with you. None of this helps, none of this has an end, they are just useless attempts to achieve an impossible goal. There is an appeal to the unknown, and the impossible, the fuel of this attraction is hope, although my rational self, accepts and understands flawlessly the reason why you do not love me, my irrational self, keeps alive the hope that someday I’ll get to know how being loved back feels like. The idea that there are parallel universes is widely debated in the scientific community, but I prefer to believe that it is true, that way I can close my eyes and imagine a future with you without feeling that I am lying. To imagine kissing your forehead at night and seeing your face when I wake up is part of my daily routine, lifts my deepest feelings. I think that love does not follow a natural cycle, that’s why God is often associated with love because love is timeless, love exists since we have memory, love is not passionate kissing or mere sex, although it is true that both can have “love” are not “love” by themselves. I love you, and I have never touched more than your hands, I firmly maintain that when you love a person so much that the desire is not physical but rather something indefinable is when you go from “liking” or “wanting” to “love”, seeing you ten minutes makes me happier than being with 15 women for six hours. That’s what hurts me, it hurts me that I can not show you my love in its entirety because that requires you to feel the same. Though in the present it hurts when I do something in order to like you, and it does not succeed, deep down what hurts me is that you can not see what I have for you, or maybe you do see it but you just don’t want it in your life or simpler, you just don’t love me. I hurt myself when I write about you or when I think of what can not be, but I have to admit that by the mere fact that my heart vibrates when I see you, I will go through any pain.

© Gabriel Berm

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Foolishness

“..My foolishness is a side-effect of your existence.”

That feeling that I have for you shall not be expressed with any known words, because, my love, you make me experience a multitude of beautiful emotions that I’m grateful for. Although dear, this unrequited love is killing me like potent poison kills a tiny insect. My heart melts every time I see you, but indeed, it harms it too, one day my emotions will perish at the dawn of a new time. Time in which I hope I’ll be capable of seeing you without my heart rate increasing, a time in which my eyes will not be yours, in which your smile will not invoke mine, and your presence will not be as valued as it is now. But right now, I’m probably incapable of such a thing, each time I see you, I’m lucky if I don’t start acting like a complete fool. My foolishness is clearly a side-effect of your own existence. There’s no-one in this open world to whom I am more attracted than you. My entire world paralyzes every time I see your name written somewhere, or when I hear something about you. Perhaps you’re only a mirage, an illusion produced by my mind, to drive me crazy. My love for you could only be compared to the love Don Quixote had for adventure, you clearly are an adventure, a great adventure I don’t happen to have the pleasure to be in. The love Don Quixote had for adventure is so similar to my love for thee, that makes me wonder if this is an act of stupidity or an act of pure love. I just hope that at the very end our story is not like Don Quixote’s story because it would be rather unpleasant to recover my consciousness only when my love for you is practically extinct. But it would be better, I believe, than living my entire life with you in my mind, while I’m not even in your deepest memory.

© Gabriel Berm