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letter from underground

no, i could not talk to you, sweetheart. this was something i had brought since i was born. this was not a curse. this was something tied in both my hands, some sort of vines were lingering on every pores of my arms' skin. the disgust was immense in me. and i imagined if i could love as hard as i was disgusted. but love left a bad taste in my tongue. my heart was a deep hollow, sweetheart. five seconds ago i remembered the kindness you gave me, then i had forgotten your name. was i fooled by my own brain? was i delusioned with the slight happiness i was momentarily given despite this big hollow that could gulp the moon. it was a loose chance. i was barely distracted from my genuine hatred. thus, i become so afraid of such blinding emotions and forgot my stance. i was not a great man, but i put my self in a higher position than those around me. in what position, you could not understand, sweetheart. i was not you, or anyone. this was not a proud regard. i was merely a terrible man. where should i address this terribleness or was it the solemn dissatisfaction of my own existence, of life itself, i proned on them.

sweetheart, no human could fix me. i did not imagine a clear sky, i simply did not imagine anything. it was not the world's fault. and my cynicism did not need a pity. i had not yet beg for enough sorrow for me to be pitied. pity was not for a terrible man, sweetheart. it was for the ones who dreams. i never wished for something better than my life. i was more than capable turning my life into something as useful as a dead leaf for the earth worms.

with my disgust for love, i had decided to put a barrier for it. if you pushed me to an edge, i was ready to say i was not made to love. and i hope i could ask for respect on this matter. i was more than ready to give my body, my time, my sweat, and my blood to distort a milisecond of your lifetime--this, was the only moment you could give your pity to me. my hollow was a draught, a deprived monster eating generosity. it was not made for human, sweetheart. no human was generous enough, would give their whole without getting anything in return. that was hereby humane.

did my words finally erode better in your great fortitude now, sweetheart? did you understand where this thing came from? i could not take it off nor i wished to. for what i had stated, it was attached to me since i was a bundle of flesh. life was brought upon me. it was the first generosity given to me.


--1st letter

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