I will never be quite able to understand the reason behind those moments in which melancholy invades my pores- mockingly penetrating my soul too easily, sinking into the utmost profoundness of my chest. I cannot manage to figure out why I feel so empty, as if every emotion that was ever present in me had been drained from my person, leaving an almost empty body where only affliction and nostalgia reign.
If I look around me today, I can say I have at my disposition everything one needs in order to be happy. But hidden, almost impalpable, lies the ever-present question that troubles me hour by hour, day after day: What is happiness, and how is it achieved? It is a concept so abstract and complex that I frequently doubt its existence. Is there in this world a person who can be called unconditionally happy? And if there is, what is their secret?
Not long ago I discovered that lust, like love, could be found in those sad and deserted corners where no one dares to look. I discovered also that they can be easily mistaken for one another, and when that happens, a toxic restlessness is created. A feeling of uneasiness that expands into every particle of your body, that blurs coherent thoughts and weakens you in the knees, that makes you want to jump into the sky and cry at the same time. The endlessly addictive pain of love and lust is probably the most profound and consuming type of pain; but also the most satisfactory one.
And in those moments of insatiable passion I lose my mind. I am yours, only yours. I lose myself in your lips that irradiate vibrant desire and I let them go through my whole body, asking you, begging you for more. I stand marveled, discovering yours, which ignites in me the ardent flame of curiosity. I like to discover every little piece of you, to memorize your essence and your taste, to capture in my memory your expressions that embody pure pleasure, experience the rejoicing of senses that having you by my side is. I enjoy paralyzing you with satisfaction, swooning you with delight, feeling that for one minute, you entirely belong to me.
We were never as human as we are in this moment. Never did we let ourselves be driven by this overwhelming desire, immersing ourselves completely in one another. Not thinking about what will happen tomorrow, but absorbing pleasure in its purest and more genuine form, intoxicated by the delirium that consumes us.
But that “tomorrow” always arrives. And for some strange reason you find yourself even emptier than you were before. Even more confused, even more fearful.
Suddenly you don’t know what you feel or why you feel it. With every passing day you become a little more broken, a little more swaddled in your eternal doubts that remain unanswered. You start to lose the sense of reality, and secretly you wonder if you are losing your head with it.
So you grasp on to the emotions of that moment of fervent passion as if they were the only ones you ever felt; the dominate you completely and entirely. You have ceased to be the Master of your feelings. This realization, shocks you, it anguishes you. Go away, before the damage you make to your soul becomes irreparable. Go away, before that last cigarette burns out your lungs.