My idea of love has come full circle. Has it really been almost ten years since my first relationship? It has. Karmic completion.
What is love? What is obsession? Can they exist in one world or is it mutually exclusive? Can a relationship ever become symbiotic or is it just various degrees of parasitism? It is important some times to remember that I can love and that I have been loved otherwise I find myself debating my definitions of well-being.
It feels impossible sometimes to gather the fortitude, the footing to break a cycle that seems to never end. Is this what Cohle's conversation in True Detective echoes - a captured view of space-time continuum in which we are doomed to repeat ourselves ad infinitum? I already know this. I already know that my life is a series of actions and reactions that are bound.
There is a hopelessness in life I find somewhat relieving. I've never had the misconception of wilting under the free will apparent to Sartre or the exhilarating optimism of potential adherent to Nietzsche, more like the despair of Schopenhauer or the realism of Freud. A constant wandering; a too curious child. Open eyes have no filter.
I still will only love certain men in my life for the things that they have done to me and this is no exception. The only optimism I've ever had in my life is in my ability to forgive. But I can't say with much ease anymore if I have ever been forgiven.
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