How could I hurt myself? It was a question that tortured me. Why should I desire bad things to happen, and which human in this life, at least once, choοse to self-destruct.I realized that this attempt was a choice, it was a choice of personal dilemma.I was part of it because it was empirical, out of my everyday life.
Specifically, I understand that a Wednesday, a charming evening. When the door of my house opened, I ran to welcome my man. But he was not the same. His eyes did not have a sweet chestnut need. It was total black and dark. His face had lost his livelihood. But his lips were shameless red. The blood was hanging on the floor. He walked up to the couch and unloaded his shirt. His body was scratchy, bruised. We didn't exchain any words. I just spend all of my strength to sit beside him. To just look at him for a second. He did the exact same thing, constatly looking at me without saying a word. The only differnce was his courage. He aproached me and leaned towards me. His red lips touched mine and when I tasted him, I felt pain.
He was my choice, he was my personal dilemma. I had never felt so much pain bacause of my own desicions. But it was him and this harmonic pain, or absolutely no feeling. I prefered him. I prefered to feel pain, than nothing. I prefered to hurt myself. How strange.