Let Him Cry

Dear Leah,

I seriously doubt that this will ever actually reach you but if you’re reading this letter, it either means that I’m dead (this is not supposed to be a suicide letter, I’m talking about a natural death) and that someone’s found it and gave it to you or that I sent it to you myself. Anyway, I just want to say that I miss you. I miss the times we’ve spent together. I still remember the first time I noticed you. It was during the first year of grammar school, you were wearing a green jacket, black pants and black boots. And you were so beautiful. I immediately knew that you were an amazing girl. I also remember the first time we talked. It was in the same year, during this sports camp. I saw you talking about Game of Thrones with Peter and Flo. Hell, I was jealous. One of my best friends was talking to this oh so pretty girl about a TV series that I loved. So, of course, I joined in and we discussed some fan theories. Not that much later I asked Evan to give me your snapchat information, which he did and I texted you. You asked for my number and that’s when I knew; this girl is perfect. I managed to get you to teach me some Korean after school, which you didn’t really do. We just talked and laughed while finding out things about each other. A bit later then, I asked you out and we went on this, in my opinion, pretty nice date. We went to see Suicide Squad at the movies and then we went to Kung Fu Burger for dinner. Fuck, I spent so much money on that day. But it was worth it, you were worth it. I walked all the way home that night. I almost didn’t dare to wash the shirt I was wearing since it smelled like you. Cheesy as fuck, I know. Anyway, that’s basically how we became friends. Of course I wanted to be more than that but I was just happy to have you by my side. We went out a lot, talked, laughed and bought our Chinese friend rice for his birthday. Those were happy times. Every time I saw you, I felt like the sun shone a little bit brighter. And since I couldn’t have you, I kept making jokes about how you were the perfect girl for me and how we’d get married someday. Naturally, I wasn’t really joking but rather hoping. We formed a strong bond and became best friends. We told each other about our first kiss and other exciting love stories. I loved hearing about the things you experienced even though I always was jealous. To be honest, I think we had some chances to get together. But there was always missing initiative and neither of us wanted to compromise our friendship. If I could do it all again, I’d be way more courageous. Do you remember the night we made sushi at my father’s apartment? I should’ve kissed you then. It would’ve been the perfect time. But oh well, it’s too late now. Anyway, I want you to know that I really liked you, probably even loved you for some time. I wrote like five songs about you, although there’s only one that’s not some depressing, self-pitying fuckload of too many teenage emotions. But then, slowly but surely, things started going to shit. Not even a year into our friendship, we had just returned from three exchange weeks in England, you suddenly stopped texting. At first, I didn’t think there was much to it, since we’d had a crisis of that sort before. However, time passed and I grew scared. I really suffered, you know. My best friend, whom I liked so dearly, broke off every contact with me. And I had no idea why. So, on exactly the 5th of December, 2017, at around eleven PM, I finally worked up the courage to send you one of my way too long, way too emotional texts. And you replied. You said I had changed. That was all. You said it felt different from before. No further explanations, nothing I could’ve worked with. You gave up on us so quickly. I still wonder if our friendship had ever really meant anything to you since you didn’t even fight for it, didn’t talk to me about your thoughts. It was just over. In the blink of an eye, I had forever lost my best friend because “I had changed”. What the fuck does that even mean? I sure as hell couldn’t figure it out. I thought about this one sentence so many goddamn times, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong but I simply didn’t understand it. I spent whole nights just lying awake in my bed, reading our old texts while attempting to fathom a reason for your accusation. But the only thing I realized was that you were wrong. I hadn’t changed a bit. I still was and still am the clueless idiot that I was when we first met. So if you’re reading this, I’ve got a question for you: have you ever thought about the possibility that maybe it wasn’t me who had changed but you? Anyway, I’m not mad at you. I got over it even though it was probably the most frustratingly depressing shit I had ever experienced. However, I’m not one to hold grudges. You did what you thought was right and I can’t blame you for that, even if I don’t share your opinion. I guess what I’m really trying to say with this letter is that I miss you and that I enjoyed the shit out of our time together. Thank you.

PS: I’m probably going to trash your wedding if I get the chance. Not out of hate. Just some active aggressive deed that I owe to myself. With that being said, enjoy your life, I hope you’re happy. Because that’s really the only thing I’ve ever wanted.

Sincerely, not yours truly,

Lars

 

                                                  1

Have you ever felt truly happy? Like, shit my pants, jump around, laugh and sing kind of happy? Well, I haven’t. Let me tell you something: happiness doesn’t grow on trees. It doesn’t grow anywhere, to be exact. You have to work for it. A wise man once told me “Don’t chase your luck. But seize every opportunity you get.” I try to live by this. Of course, it takes a lot of courage to seize your opportunities, for example to go talk to a girl. Nevertheless, you have to do it to get somewhere. Life is nothing more than a big fucked up play, written by some sadistic son of a bitch who’s got such a shitty life that he has to see others suffer to make himself feel good. (My idea of God by the way). Every act of our lives contains multiple styles of plays. At one point it’s a comedy, you’re happy and life’s just one big party. At the next, it’s a drama where you have to deal with a lot of problems and are just overwhelmed by everything that’s happening. Then it turns into a tragedy where you’re depressed and down and probably just want to go hang yourself somewhere. In every corner lures some intrigue that’s going to fuck your shit up. But you have to deal with them. With every single one. There are no shortcuts, no easy ways. Well, except for suicide but I’m not going to get into that, seeing as I’m no psychiatrist and don’t want to say anything that would offend anyone in this matter. Anyhow, I think my idea of life is pretty clear even if you may not agree with me. You being the reader of this oh so philosophical pile of words (of which there will be more throughout this book, feel free to skip them if you don’t want to waste your time on pseudo intellectual stuff). Now, let me tell you the story of someone I once knew. A man whom I held dear as if he were my brother. The story of someone who got so consumed by his emotions that he did something terrible. But no spoilers. This is the story of Edward Gail.

Edward was sitting on his front porch with a glass of Jack Daniel’s on the table next to him. He was rolling a cigarette with utmost concentration for this was a truly excruciating endeavour, especially if you’re already a little drunk. When he was done, he lit it, as you do with a cigarette, and grabbed his acoustic guitar. Edward loved writing songs, it was the only way he could let out his frustration about his miserable life. The topic of pretty much every song was love. Or rather, girls he fell in love with and then blew it or they didn’t feel the same for him. The newest song he was working on was called The Girl across the Room and it was about, well, a girl he’d seen sitting across the classroom a couple of times. She was the friend of a friend of his and he always told me about the way she looked at him and that he thought she had some kind of feelings for him, maybe… Anyway, he started playing. Em, G, C, G, Em… he was humming the melody of the lyrics, stopped, wrote something down, continued, stopped, crossed out a word, replaced it and started playing again. All the while he was pulling on his cigarette and blowing the smoke out without ever touching it. At some point, it was burnt down so far that the hot smoke burnt his lips. He spit out the cigarette and cursed at someone who wasn’t there. He took a sip of Jack Daniel’s to soothe the pain and then continued playing. He was almost done now. Whenever he had finished a song, Edward would send it to me and I would tell him how fucking sad it was and that I liked it very much. Which was true, Edward was a natural at writing songs. He often thought about dropping out of school and becoming a pub musician. And who could blame him? School was and still is bullshit. At least the one you do voluntarily. Or not so much voluntarily since it’s crucial to go to a grammar school or some other college to be able to lead a more or less okay life. As for me, I had also more than once thought about dropping out and becoming a bartender. Which would’ve been pretty perfect, I’d have a bar of my own someday and Edward would come play small gigs and work there. Anyhow, Edward had now finished his song as well as his glass and was about to head back inside when he heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned around and saw, well, me. “Lars! How the hell are ya?” he asked while sitting back down and pointing his finger to a chair, inviting me to sit down. 
“Quite well, old friend. How ‘bout yourself?” I asked back while taking a seat. “Fucking miserable,” he replied. 
“As always. What’s…or rather, who’s troubling your mind these days?”
 “Still the same girl, dude. Morrigan. I can’t get her out of my head, you know. She haunts me.” he looked at me sternly as he does whenever he’s talking about her.
Morrigan was…well, probably the love of his life. He went to high school with her and pretty much instantly fell in love with her. They quickly became best friends and for some time, she was the only thing he talked about. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Well, just wait for the shitty part. She didn’t feel the same for him. And that destroyed him. He became quite a heavy drinker for his age and slowly but surely, depression came over him. Now, Edward told her about his feelings and that’s how he found out that she wasn’t into him. Nevertheless, they still stayed friends. He wrote countless songs about her to give his heart some way to cope. But then she decided to go on an exchange year in America, which she did. That rendered Edward even sadder and more depressed. He started failing classes, had bad grades and lost every motivation whatsoever. I told him that maybe it was the best thing for him if she went away so he could try and forget about her. He reluctantly agreed with me. Not that that made him feel any better. I never really was a great help with stuff like that. I just listened to the people who told me about their problems but could never say anything good or give appropriate advice. But I’ll tell you more about that later. 
Now Edward had finished his drink and looked thoughtfully to the sky. I had just lit my cigarette when he asked: “So, how’s it going for you? Girlwise I mean.” I thought about that question for a moment. How was it going?
“It’s standing still,” the answer came like a reflex and it took me some seconds before realizing that it was bullshit. I added, “Well, that’s not totally true. Not at all, actually. I met this girl at Evan’s concert. I asked for her number and we went out two times. I’m gonna see her again soon. I think she likes me.” I smiled at the thought of her. With her green eyes, beautiful face and great sense of humour. We even liked the same kind of music, which was pretty rare since I was into Metal. Incidentally, it was Edward who had introduced me to it, back in seventh grade. 
“You look awfully happy. Standing still my ass. What’s the lucky girl’s name?” Edward looked at me with a childish smile. 
“Nadia.” The name escaped my lips with delight. Nadia. I had never imagined to ever meet a girl who was actually into me and was so excited for our dates. But there she was. And I couldn’t have felt happier. 
“What a nice name. I’m happy for you, my friend. But I remember you telling me about that other girl…what was her name again…ah yes, Leah.”
 “Well, I don’t really know about her to be honest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, if I could, I would get together with her in an instant. She’s the girl of my dreams. But the ones you like the most never like you back, right?”
“Tell me about it,” he smiled a sad smile.
“I’ve told her about Nadia and call me insane but I think she’s a bit jealous. But oh well, she’s had her chance. I’d rather spend my time with a girl who actually likes me back.”
“So you like this Nadia girl?”
“I guess so.” I really did. Guess so I mean. For I had the slight feeling that I was deceived by my emotions. That I imagined liking her because she liked me and I just liked that feeling. Somewhere deep inside me I was convinced that I loved Leah. On the other hand, I had to move on someday and this was the perfect opportunity. 
“You don’t sound too convinced.” Edward looked at me skeptically. 
“Oh, screw you. I have my doubts, too.” 
And then there we sat. Two idiots who didn’t understand neither women nor love. I was reminiscing about old times, when everything was still simple and we didn’t think about girls. And I could only guess that Edward was doing the same for he poured us both another glass and then resumed staring at the sky. That was when I pulled a small bag out of my shirt’s breast pocket and laid it on the table. 
“Look. I brought oregano.” I said, smiling like a little boy.
“Very nice.” Edward answered and in about five minutes, we had built ourselves a sturdy joint. I lit it and started smoking. Good stuff. Two hours later, I was on my way home. It had started raining but I didn’t mind. I loved walking in the rain. It always got the melancholy me going. I could listen to the music in my ears, think about everything that was worth thinking about and just ignore everyone while they ignored me. That’s the great thing about rain. No one cares about what’s going on around them, they just want to get home as fast as possible and put on dry clothes. 
I liked to think about this world we’re living in whenever I was walking through the rain. About how nothing that we do really matters. About how we’re all just a part of the big grey mass we call society. No one’s special. Some people are just better than others. But we’re all the same in a way. Living in the same world, doing the same things. And it’s repeating constantly. Whenever a new child is born, it’s going to go through the same scenarios in life its parents have gone through and their parents before them. Really makes you think about the meaning of our lives. There was one night during January of the year 2018 when Edward and I were walking home and we somehow came across this topic.
I was very philosophically inspired that night and said to him, “We don’t live our lives for ourselves. We live for the people we love. We live to spend time with them and enjoy every minute of it. Life wouldn’t be worth living without friends. And that’s really all there is to it. There’s no greater good. Neither you nor I will ever do anything significant for this world. We live in our own little universe, surrounded by our circle of friends. And that’s more than enough I think.” He agreed. So there you have it, my idea of the purpose of our lives.

 

                                             2

Love is a disease. You catch it like a fever and it makes you sick. If it works out, you’re living in a fever dream, flying around and always happy. But once this stage has ended, you’re no more than a wreck. A sad, sick, helpless little piece of trash, whining about their broken heart. There are no vaccines for love. You can’t prevent it from overtaking you. And neither can you do anything to control how long it stays. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say that love in general is bad. Love is bliss. If it works out, that is. But if it doesn’t, you need remedies to heal you. And since there aren’t any, you turn to alcohol and cigarettes. I like to say that there’s no reason why I took up smoking. And, to be honest, I still can’t think of one, so I’m not lying when I say that. Still, I’m convinced that every smoker and every alcoholic tries to forget something. There’s a good chance that that includes me. I know there are many ways to deal with heartbreak and other sad stuff and not everyone ends up being an addict. Nevertheless, everyone must find a way to cope. Some drink, some smoke, some write songs, some listen to sad music and some just do it all together. I’ve gotten a bit off track, sorry. As for the original topic: love is a disease that either leaves you throughout time, although it takes long and is very, very painful or it stays with you until you die. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that it won’t hurt either way. To take up remedies again, I believe that the best one is music. There are so many songs that describe shattered and failed love. A lot of them are really relatable, too. Sure, you might not be able to listen to them for some time because they bring up sad memories but after the years have passed, you have the possibility to dwell on times long in the past and remember things that you might have forgotten. Music is, in my opinion, crucial for the human life. But I’ve gotten off topic again. Let’s just continue our story. Now, where were we?

“Rome is burning”, he said, drowning in a sea of pointless pussy. I hit the space bar to pause the episode of Californication I was watching. This series had inspired me to write this book. If I ever finish it, it will be thanks to Tom Kapinos and David Duchovny. I got out of my bed, put on my coat and shoes and went to my favourite café called Coffee for the Weak. I ordered a cappuccino to go, paid and went outside to sit on a bench and light a cigarette. This was and still is my favourite thing to do in the morning, on the weekends at least. I loved to just sit somewhere, drink my coffee, smoke my cigarette and watch the people passing by. There lived some really strange looking creatures in this city of mine. There were the junkies, just roaming about, talking to themselves. Or the fourteen year old girls, trying to look like twenty, smoking, drinking a Starbucks pumpkin latte and wearing those so-called „ugg boots“, leggings and a jacket with fur on the hood. I liked to call them “basic white bitches”. I don’t want to sound like an old geezer, sitting at home, looking out the window and yelling at children but I was certain that after my age-group, it was only going downhill with the youth. What the parents of the years after 2000 had produced were some of the most cringe worthy offspring the world had ever seen. I’m not saying that in my generation there hadn’t been any people of the same kind but it was definitely getting worse with every year. Anyway, as I was sitting on the same old bench, drinking the same old coffee and smoking the same old cigarette brand, I thought about my upcoming date with Nadia. We had set it on the next Wednesday (we had holidays, so no school). It would be our third date, the other two had already been great and I could tell that she liked me. Nevertheless, I didn’t want to get too hopeful, since I knew how it felt to get disappointed by something I was looking forward to. We had planned to watch an Avenger’s movie together. And my plan was to kiss her that day. It would be my first kiss ever and I grew nervous just thinking about it. So when the day came, I rode the bus to the bus stop where she was waiting for me. The ride felt like it was taking hours and I was sitting next to an old lady who blocked my way to the door. I just hoped that she had to get off before me or at least with me so I wouldn’t have to deal with too much human interaction. 
I’m by no means an introvert, I just don’t really like talking to people I don’t know.
When I finally arrived, the lady luckily got off the bus with me. I had to wait sometime for Nadia to get there and I was worried that I was at the wrong place. But then she came and, upon seeing me, smiled like she wanted to spend the whole world happiness with just one smile. She hugged me, or rather pressed me against herself with all the strength she had. It was surely a funny image since she was almost a head smaller than I was. We then proceeded to walk to the house in which she lived in an apartment with her mother. It was a long ass way and I honestly had my doubts if I’d ever find my way back. But we arrived, got ourselves some chips and started the film. I had no idea how to behave while watching. I didn’t know how to sit, whether to look at her or not…I felt so awkward and nervous that I was scared I’d shit myself right then and there. I kept accidentally hitting my leg against the small table in front of us. I must’ve looked like someone who had never had any sort of interaction with another human being. And right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, my stomach started acting up. It was growling like a bear having an orgasm and I had cramps that felt like someone wearing massive knuckle-dusters was repeatedly punching me in the stomach. Nevertheless, I fought my way through it. The movie ended and we went to her room. Now, that’s not, as you may think, where the good stuff happened. To be honest, I don’t quite remember what we did, I was too concerned about my stomach making noises. After about an hour, I ate dinner with Nadia and her mom who by the way was and probably still is one of the worst people I’ve ever known. But more on that later. Maybe. Anyway, we’d finished eating, my stomach was still acting up and I kept covering it with the excuse that I was just still hungry. I knew that I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself even more. I thought for sure that I had blown the whole thing but I was wrong. Nadia accompanied me on the way back to the bus station and we stopped in a small alley where she had to go to her music lesson. I honestly forgot what the instrument is called which she played but it doesn’t really matter. Anyway, there we were, standing in a dark alley and I just knew if I was going to do it, it was now or never. So, naturally, I flipped out, yelled “Bye” and ran like the wind. Just kidding, don’t worry. I took her hand, looked her in the eyes and said “Nadia, you are the most beautiful girl I have ever had the pleasure to meet. You make my heart beat faster than Mike Portnoy beating the bass drum.” Then I put one hand behind her head and kissed her. Again, just kidding. I’m going to cut the crap now, sorry. Alright, what really happened was this:
I told her that I wasn’t exactly a go-getting kind of guy and I had no idea how to do this but since this was our third date I had planned to kiss her. Right after those words had left my lips, I thought to myself “What the fuck, dude. No one talks like that.” However, Nadia seemed to think it was somewhat cute for she stepped forward and just kissed me. I could feel my blood rushing to my nether regions as I tried to follow the lead of her tongue. I was pretty overwhelmed. I mean, this was my first kiss ever and she just frenched me with such vigorous excitement that I could barely keep up. However, I managed to get some idea of what I was doing and besides biting her tongue a couple of times, I think I didn’t do too badly. This make out session of ours kept going for a while and there were people walking past but we didn’t care. Hell, I was on cloud nine that evening. Nothing could’ve killed my good mood. After we were done, she hugged me and told me how extremely happy she was, since she’d apparently had developed feelings for me. I told her that I was happy too, which was true. Just not because I had feelings for her. I mean sure, I liked her but in that moment I was just dwelling on the thought of my first kiss. And, as you do as an insecure teen, I asked how it was. Nadia said I kissed well and she was very surprised about the fact that I’d never kissed anyone before her. We made plans to meet up the next day and then parted. I awkwardly walked to the bus station with a third leg in my pants. On the bus, I listened to Billy Talent and felt happier than ever before, I immediately texted Leah and then Edward to tell them the good news. And that’s basically the story of my first kiss. An awkward ride that was totally worth the embarrassment. Nadia and I were together for three months and the last one should mark one of the two worst time periods of my year 2017.

 

                                             3

Letting go can be a hellride. No one likes to lose something they like. Be it a ring or a person. I’m not talking about death. I’m talking about someone you love and they don’t love you back. You have to get over that shit. And it’s probably one of the hardest things anyone can go through. That doesn’t change the fact that it has to be done. Before, I compared love to a disease but it’s also an addiction. And what do you do against an addiction? That’s right, withdrawal treatment. Which is exactly the thing you have to do against heartache. You have to starve your feelings, as a wise man once said. It sounds easy but believe me, it’s not. The worst thing you can do is to see the person responsible for your sorrows. At least right after you started to feel the pain. That shit is going to take you back to all the happy times you’ve experienced together and for a brief moment you just enjoy that feeling. But then you say goodbye, the person leaves and suddenly you’re left alone, feeling like you did after the breakup. So, take this advice: wait. Or just let it be forever. It’s nice to say that you want to stay friends with your ex but believe me, even if you think it works at first, it doesn’t. It will always be weird and you will always be reminded of all the pain you went through. I once knew a person who was especially bad at letting things go. You’ve already met him.

“Come on, this one’s the one!” Edward said to me. We were playing beer pong, or rather mojito pong, with Nicolas and Adrian, two friends from my grammar school. I was holding the table tennis ball in my right hand, focusing on the three cups that were left on the other side of the table. Edward and I still had four and we were pretty confident that we’d win this match. I took three deep breaths as if it were a matter of life and death, took aim and threw. The ball hit the rim of the nearest cup and I thought for sure that I had fucked it up but then it bounced off and fell into the cup on the right. My ego acted up and I shouted “That’s two, motherfuckers!” 
“Niiice.” Exclaimed Edward and we did a little dance to taunt our opponents. They reluctantly emptied the cups. Now it was Nicolas’ turn. 
That bastard was damn good at this game. But Edward had developed something he liked to call “mental warfare” in which he’d basically just wave his hands over the cups and make gay puns. Nevertheless, Nicolas wasn’t distracted and even less turned on. He threw and the ball cleanly hit one of our cups. I drank up and then it was Edward’s duty to hit the last cup. I patted his shoulder and fixed my eyes on the remaining cup. Edward threw the ball in a high arc and it splashed into the mojito. I performed an air kick and we shouted at the other two poor bastards who had to put up with our arrogance. We were walking around like peacocks posing for females, filled with pride. Adrian emptied the last cup and the four of us shook hands. We were all pretty drunk at that point and I knew that I had reached my limit. I am what you might call a light weight. Just a little too much and I could be sure that I’d end up vomiting. Edward on the other hand could chug alcohol like water and almost never suffered from a hangover. Perhaps a light headache on the next day. Oh, how I envied people like him. Drinking alcohol without having to worry about their stomach. Nevertheless, I always had fun at parties and I liked seeing what being drunk did to my friends. Some just got tired and sat somewhere in a corner. Others got extremely friendly, always ready for a hug and stumbling around. But Edward was again an exception. He got depressed. Not instantly. He had three stages of drunk. The first, lightly drunk stage where he was a very likeable, cheerful person. Then the second stage, properly drunk, where he grew, as said, depressed and angry. I often had to intervene when this happened because it was very annoying. You could literally see the hurt in his eyes. And then stage three. At that point in time, I had never seen him reach that stage but he had told me about it. He was near pass out drunk, could barely walk, needless to say talk and he had the feeling that everyone hated him. Nevertheless, on the next day after reaching stage three, he always had the best stories to tell. If he could remember them, that is. Anyway, he had just barely reached stage one and everything was fine. Adrian had to go home, so Edward, Nicolas and I poured us three glasses of Jameson whiskey which Edward had received as a gift from Sharon. She’ll be coming up again, don’t worry. We sat out on the balcony and lit three Corgo cigarillos with vanilla flavoured filters. They had been sold to me on the street while I’d been sitting outside a bar with a couple of friends. I was seventeen and this woman just came up to us and asked if we’d like to buy five packs of cigarillos and a matching hipflask. Way to take advantage of the gullible youth. Well, obviously I said yes. And it had been a good investment. Nicolas was a convinced anti-smoker but he did smoke cigarillos. Don’t question the logic please, I haven’t quite figured it out myself. Anyway, there we sat, drinking our whiskey and smoking our cigarillos. We talked about Edward’s problems with Nicolas and me playing psychologist and Edward being the patient. I don’t remember much of what we said but it was really nice. Then we went back inside and had an extremely heated discussion about, well, God and the world basically. You have to have been there. Then Nicolas went home and Edward and I went to bed. And that was a normal evening in the life of a teenager, temporarily living in the apartment of his father with a friend of his. Oh, if only life always were that easy…

 

                                             

                                             4

It is a truth universally acknowledged that nothing matters. You can live your life as a good person or as a bad one, in the end it’s all the same. We all go through this rollercoaster we call the greatest gift one could receive and we all die someday. So there’s really only one thing that you have to keep in mind: you don’t matter. You’re the same miserable piece of shit as all the others. You’re not special. Or rather; you are special, just like everyone else. So fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck all of us. 
Now, after having read that you may probably find the following a bit contradicting: even though I think that nothing we do matters since we’re all going to die anyway, I still don’t believe that this should be used as an excuse to waste your life away and not take any risks. I find people who think like that cowardly. It’s an oversimplification of life. I firmly believe that we should still put effort into our lives and have the courage to take risks. Even if it’s all in vain in the end.

Nadia and I spent the first two months of our relationship quite happily. I remember one thing she told me when we were walking through the city in the rain: “If you ever break up with me, do it on a rainy day so you can’t see my tears.” I will probably never forget this. However, at that point in time, a breakup was nowhere even near my mind. And it kept not being there until I got to know her better (we got together after three dates, I barely knew the girl), and I realized something. Nadia was a deeply broken person. She was suffering from depression and had even tried to commit suicide a couple of times. When she told me about that, I was overwhelmed. I had never had to deal with a suicidal person before. So every time she told me that she was having a breakdown, I was just at a loss of words. My answers were so unconvincing that I wondered if I even was of any help. But Nadia kept telling me that the pure fact she had me made her feel so much better. That since I was in her life, she’d been stronger and that it sufficed if I just listened. She reassured me of that over and over again but I was never convinced. I know that was arrogant of me but I felt so shitty about myself at that time. I hated myself for not being a better boyfriend who could say something significant that might help her deal with her problems. And that was the start of the first worst time period of my year 2017. It kept going like this for a while and then I gradually started growing tired of hearing about her problems. I know, I know, I was an asshole. But give me some credit, I was only seventeen and no goddamn psychiatrist. It was very hard for me to deal with this situation. And right when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I started doubting my feelings. I had, up to that point, never been as unsure of anything as I had been of my love for her. I spent nights awake, walking around, coming home, crying, turning around in my bed and so on and so forth. It was ironic, really. During the time I should’ve been the happiest, I was the saddest. I started imagining to like other girls. My heart went on its original course with sails set for Leah. I only knew one thing: I couldn’t take the suffering anymore. I had to end it. And so I did. On an ugly bench near the river my city is famous for I broke up with Nadia. It wasn’t raining. I cried. She didn’t.
It was a good kind of breakup though, if there even is such a thing. We kept contact for some time and she even slept over once, which was probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had. She then left the grammar school and our contact broke up more or less. And so I was back in my life, single, trying to convince Leah to marry me someday and regretting everything. Speaking of her, she was actually the first person I called right after the breakup. She was my best friend at the time and I just needed to hear her voice. I didn’t tell her what was going on though since I feared that I would start crying helplessly in the middle of the city. Some weeks later, I asked her a question I had been meaning to ask her for a long time. Namely, if she’d been jealous of Nadia and if she’d started developing feelings for me at the time that I had met Nadia. She confessed that she had but that she hadn’t wanted to act on it since we were friends. The self-loathing in me grew strong. I had missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime. Well, I couldn’t have known that at the time but now I do. Don’t get me wrong, I by now means regret having been together with Nadia but if I had known that there had actually been a chance for Leah and I to get together, I would’ve seized the opportunity. Well, fucknuts, I guess. The sweet illusions life puts in front of our eyes always manage to mesmerize us it seems.

 

5

I can’t think of any philosophical topic right now so I’m just going to continue the story.

During the time Nadia and I had been together, also Edward had had a girlfriend. Her name escapes me but it’s not that important for the story.

 

 

 

 

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