The Last Chapter: The Suicide (2)

As above, so below, as within, so without, as the universe, so the soul.”

– Hermes Trismegistus

Abelard and Héloïse

As fate would have it, at the very time on the verge of a pitch-black sorrow, as I lived desolate and destitute in Tijuana, I encountered love. It was the most unexpected moment. Our love was, or so I thought, conceived rather immaculately in The Glance, the first glimpse I exchanged with Charlotte. It was a glance of deep understanding, as we’ve seen each other in a manner God never wanted us to see another human being—a naked soul, glorious in all its fears, magnificent in all its beauty, impalpable and everywhere at the same time.

I suspect physicists played hide-and-seek with us mortals when they called the unknown substance that permeates our universe, those mysterious 85%, a dark matter. Just because you can’t see it, does not mean it’s dark, geniuses. I dare to dream that some sort of universal love is that elusive dark matter.

I don’t give a hoot about how stupid or schmaltzy that sounds. After all, isn’t love equally elusive, equally invisible as neutrinos? That does not stop either from overwhelming us. About sixty-five billion neutrinos are passing through just one square centimeter of each area on Earth and none were visible. It’s the same if one thinks about love. Show me a man who says that he understands love and I’ll show you a liar. Even hard-core scientific genius Richard Feynman sent a love letter to his dead wife Arlene a full year after she had died.

Charlotte was the first and last thing on my mind every day; I floated around the ugliest shithole on Earth, nevertheless happy, immersed in sweet feelings. As I loved, I felt loved. Alas, I had no clue what would happen next, as I was reveling in my newly found happiness, oblivious to the ominous signs written all over that proverbial cursed wall of my demise.

The salvation I longed for and hoped to have gotten was instead my damnation.

Life is a Dialogue

Yes, the love grappled me unexpectedly with all its might. When I met her on the Malecón de Playas de Tijuana, México, I finally saw the light, unaware that it blinded me from the start. She immediately started to suffocate the dialogue of life. Only her own ways mattered. She had muzzled the dialogue from the beginning, imposing her will in the most cunning way as she hid behind her stated weaknesses (or illnesses) that ruled our times together. So she had silenced me and, by doing it, she took my breath, my life away. While we were both endlessly babbling like logorrheic Howler monkeys about our “relationship” and her numerous “inabilities” to be a part of it in a way she claimed that I wanted, I started to lose myself. I felt an overwhelming urge to help her get out of her rigid cage that suffocated love.

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