what words cannot express..
Not too long ago, when I thought I knew everything in the world, I stuck my head in books, drowning out my thoughts with the words of other people.
I lost myself reading fictional stories of faith and love to forgive the people who hurt me.
I indulged myself with essays and philosophies to understand the people who hurt me.
I drowned myself in novelettes of childish fiction to forget the people who hurt me.
I began to write my own stories… in forms of facebook notes, wall posts, e-mails, msn paragraphs, text messages, tumblr posts, etc. to let everyone else know about the people who hurt me.
Then I burned the ground and in it’s soft soft soil, I planted my story.
You can choose to hurt me. And I will hurt.
But I will walk to the bookstore; I will walk up and down the aisles, pacing back and forth, reading the titles, looking at the covers, skimming through the back…
I will pick a book and I will let myself dive into it.
I do not know why, why this is my therapy, but I lose your impact in my books.
Today I will lose you in Alighieri’s Paradiso…because six books later, with no effect, I will find my avail in the ending I give you.
We’re leaving, my love.
The Fifth Mountain will not save you this time.
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