" It was then that the full impact of his loss hit him. Her departure from his life had been too unreal to accept at first. But now he was ready for her again, restored, clearheaded and she would not come home. No matter where he looked, she was not there. The reality was so incredible he wanted to weep. He could not sleep, and when he slept he would not wake. He breathed because he did not know how to stop breathing, and he lived only for the passing of the hours and the days.
In the beginning, the whiskey was of little help, because he drank as he used to dring socially, and sobriety came back too swiftly. Gradually, he was able to consume more, and that was better, and gave him something to look forward to when he lifted himself out of bed each morning. The drinking made her disappearance unreal again, which in some ways was helpful but in other ways cruel.
Often he would return to the house, half drunk, half sober, and trudge up to his room, and sit at his desk and stare at the photograph of her face in its leather frame. He would stare at her face and want to share some minute pleasure of the new day, something seen, heard, read, felt, and in his head he would talk to her and then he would realize with a clutch of inner pain that she understood nothing, heard nothing, that she was only a flat image in black and white on glossy paper size 8 by 10.
In the moments after, he would suffer a bottomless despair at life's futility. He would drink again, still at the desk, staring at her, realizing that they had shared nothing since, not gossip and not news, that discoveries had been made, that new films and books had been released. The trick of the mirage happened, too, in the mornings. Sometimes when he read the newspaper, he looked up intending to read an item alod that would amuse her , and she was not across from him to enjoy it with him, because she was not there and never would be again. He had led a whole special life since her departure, filled with unshared information and feelings, and he hated every part of it. "
Is this how love ends ?? Is this what happens in the end ?? Is this what will happen to me eventually ?? Will I lose myself ?? Is my existance or my sanity so dependant on somebody else that I will cease to exist after them ?? Have I struggled all my life to come to this ?? Will I spend my future trying to keep my past alive ?? Is my life worthless if not shared with some one else ?? Is that all there is to me ?? Am I not capable of living my life on my own terms ?? Living for myself ?? Living with myself and no one else ?? Illusions --- is this what is left of me ?? Will I from now on live on dreams and fairy-tales ?? Have I come so long and so far to end up like this ?? Deranged ?? A madman not fit for society, for happiness, for peace and contentment ?? Can I not define my life, my future myself ?? Is this the final outcome of everything that has ever been ??
I don't want answers to my questions from anyone, so please refrain from answering them if you're leaving a comment. I am still sane enough to look for them within myself. I'm sure I'll find them somehow.
On an unrelated note, today is my sister's birthday. So if you know her and haven't wished her please do so immediately. She'll never forgive anyone who forgets. Happy Birthday, Dola. Have a great year. And please STUDY !!
