Heartbreak

"Life is too short to be restraining yourself."

No, it's not. It's too long, way too long. Painfully long, like waiting an eternity for a doctor's appointment.
It can hurt a lot too. So much so, that you forget how to breath. It causes headaches, that make you lose your ability to reason and when, that's not enough, the pain finds its way through your body.
Then the mental pain transports itself into your chest, where your heart actually feels like it is being stomped on and is slowly falling apart into tiny icy pieces.
Even worse, the pain inside your head and the numbness inside your arms and legs can't compare to the aching beating of your heart, as if it's giving up on itself. Beating hard and slowly.
You feel the beating in your whole body, right through your soul, with loud echoes. This sensation can be overwhelming, you want to scream for it to stop, it's too much at once.
Please, just become silent!
Suddenly everything loses its color. It's just a dark pitch of nothingness, where beauty has come to die. Colors have received a grey layer of ash. They have lost their vibrant tones, it's empty and hollow. Music turns into a huge chaos of random notes, the songs you once loved, only give you headache. Your mouth is only means to save you from starvation, everything tastes the same anyway. It's all empty, shallow, boring and lifeless.
This is the naked truth of the world and the truth is an ugly grey lifeless reality.
If one were to say, that this numb feeling of emptiness would never stop, I'd eventually figure out how to live my life. Empty, but bearable.
Had that person said that the anxious twist in my stomach would last forever, I'd have no problems giving away my soul, just so the pain could finally go away. This sensation of constant nausea was the climax, the only emotion that was both the darkest moment of your life, but also the most emotion driven. Oddly enough, perhaps something to look forward to, just to escape the numbness.
But these are all consequences to the real problem that's buckled inside of you. The flame that kept you ignited, has slowly lost its flame.
You decide that the world has become grey and empty, therefor you become grey and empty. There is nothing left to intrigue you anymore.
The only thought resonating before you fall asleep is how you will manage to get yourself up the other day. How will you face the smiling people around you? How should you dress? How should you present yourself, when all interest in the outside world had been lost?
And when those days come, you know that there is nothing to enjoy about it or to feel intrigued about.
It will eventually pass anyway, you tell yourself. Before you can laugh at that joke, your mind tells you shouldn't laugh this way. Or that it's not worth enjoying yourself, since it's a matter of time it will all eventually turn into air and dust.
This alone is enough to make your day lose its value. And so you dread waking up every morning, not only wanting to avoid others, but most of all yourself in front of others.
Covered in blankets in your dark room with no sound is the only safe spot.
And you will cry to a point where you feel there is no hydration left inside your body.
Always swinging from one extreme to another. From extreme sadness or happiness to empty numbness.
There is nothing you can control. Worst of all, what people might actually think of you. Yet they're always liars, when they do tell you what it is they see, because they cannot justify this amount of ugliness, whether it is in character or appearance.
You've finally seen the world in its true colors. Endless shades of grey. The truth of the world is an ugly one and you're carrying the weight with you everywhere you go.
It's so hard to explain your emptiness, since it's hard to speak about nothingness. So you might as well keep quiet and not give away too much of your odd self.
People you care for might leave forever. They have a colorful world to run after.  A long life of new discoveries, while you feel that you've been stuck on the same date for months with no progress whatsoever.
The scariest part is losing people you care for most. How long will they patiently wait before the flowers of spring alert them that the grey winter has passed and a colorful spring is awaiting them? Is it selfish of you to expect them to wait? Or is that what friends are for?
Your voice consists out of deep sigh. There is no voice, because little can be said with a mind so filled with confusion.
We might as well give up all together. He'll leave you eventually and he'll find someone more attractive, you were just a phase.
Your family only wishes for your happiness, which you can't promise. They might give up and eventually learn to safely enter and exit your grey world.
Your friends will find other people who can make them laugh. And in the beginning you'll desperately run after them. Always the first to message your best friend, as she has other things on her mind. Always trying to stay a bit longer to socialise and try to laugh a bit. Well, whatever.
Never mind it. Eventually only that what works is good in life. This didn't work and there's no point to anything, so there is no reason to hope for anything more.
You just want to lie down in bed and close your eyes and in the end, stop existing all together.

Diary of a Certain Lady: Chapter 10 (End)

Epilogue:

They got me. They have found her and thrown me inside this place. What can I say? It was nice for as long as it lasted, but extases aren't meant forever.
I must give it to you, lady Fortuna, you are indeed worthy of praise.  I have finally bowed before you. Are you happy now? Have I done well and pleased you? The control over the world is back inside your hands and I, as your humble servant, can’t, but obey these laws of determinism. 
It was quite a wild adventure, I have never felt alive as I had right then and there. My mind is clean and the sight of Mother has finally left me. Yes, I’ve finally fallen into immorality and sin. The right path has shown itself before me. Although oddly enough, I would’ve never thought that it would be a diabolic lady like yourself who controlled the injustice that led to my fall. But now I do understand that it wasn’t you who was injustice, it was me. Mother was the only thing keeping me on your path, yet I had ignored her presence, even after I had declared her as death. My heart beats peacefully though, with the right pauses at the right moments. Air feels fresher, colors more vibrant. Oh how blissfully immoral I was, yet I knew it was all thanks to you, lady Fortuna. 
My Light has lost her flames. That saddens me though. Yet at the same time, I feel blessed by you. Had it not been for you, I would’ve never known her in the first place. The torture and despair she had caused me and I had caused her made my stomach twist and turn. Oh how joyfully red the carpet was stained with her insides. How vibrant the colors, how sharp the sounds she made. I can’t thank you enough for showing me all of this. I was foolish for not listening. I understand that a queen ows her name to her followers. What a plague and disease I must’ve been to your perfect laws of causality.  A horrible sight it must’ve been for you. 
Know now that I’ve seen the Light. I know you had demanded my immoral mannerism and I have acted upon them, as I should. 
Bless you and know, that I, your humble writer, bear no regrets for whatever I have done. 

On Rejection and Nihilism

There were, are and will be times in your life in which you will experience rejection. This in itself is a terrifying fact that we cannot escape, let alone know how the live with it and sharpen or norms to its bitter existence. 
And out of all states of mind, this one in particular bears a stingy feeling of discomfort with it. Just because of its so called destroying nature.
A sense of rejection is a state of mind that destroys hopes, aspirations and dreams. It is the grandfather of nihilism. The grieving mother that gave birth to a son it didn’t want. 
There's no denying every single one of humanity has faced rejection in some way or another. And how macabre it was to experience powerlessness. Trying but not achieving. That moving forward doesn’t guarantee that desired throne we wanted to sit upon while the a warm voice is saying: “You have done your best, my child. It was enough and more than worth it.”
And we, the gods of the new world, who reign over it behind our technological innovation, seem not to have accepted the power of defeat that so mercilessly has proven its existence over and over again to us through the centuries of failing. But that's no wonder, seeing our pride. 
And yet I ask you to remember, that one time in your life where you had shown the world your brilliance in the form of a talent you possess or by hard work. And how wonderful it felt to have finally talked yourself into being courageous. One final step forward and you would have reached your end. 

(I realise I am intentionally enlarging the situation, but only with the purpose that it will the more relatable. These general lines of experience are what every human goes through before the final blow)

And when the rejection finally does take place, it is not just the sense of judgment laid upon your act in itself that may stir your emotions, it is all that positive buildup from beforehand that suddenly collapses all together. And it falls and it crumbles, draining every bit of confidence and courage you had in mere seconds. And what you’re left with is angst, followed by an emotionless state of mind that’s too shocked to even comprehend what just had happened. 

This is rejection. So familiar and mind numbing it us.  This is the grandfather of nihilism. A crusher of ideals. The stone in our path that stops us from moving forward, not being able to look into the future. Yet it makes us regret looking back and hating ever having chosen this path. Imagine this for multiple times in your life. A path that stops halfway, yet being told that if you try hard enough one day you will reach your throne and you will comfortably reign over the worries of yourself and, if you’re idealistic enough, of humanity. This lie becomes the engine of your pursuit of happiness. What you’re left with is a huge nothingness. Nothing to move forward too, but to drained to even consider another way. So you sit there in the middle of the road. Stuck between two possible extremes. 

As a considerate reader you might have seen similarities to The Myth of Sysiphus by Camus, in which Sysiphus was doomed to eternally roll a rock up a mountain, just to see it tumbling down just as he reached the end. Let me elaborate on this. 
“Let us imagine Sysiphus happy”, Camus said. Let us imagine he is considering rolling up the rock as a life project in which he can still realise himself in some sort of form, by which he is not doomed to emptiness. That even in the most miserable situations it is possible to idealise oneself and to try realise that goal. 
Let me then pose the following contra-statement. Let us imagine, I say, that it is not a miserable place we live in, but that we are in paradise. That this society of empty consumption has realised itself into our paradise, in which we have no shortcomings. Complaining would be shushed. The habitants of paradise would be pointing at the damned burning in hell telling me: “But at least, you’re not them.” By which I would subject to this argumentum ad absurdum and nod in agreement. 
Imagine in this scenario that it is us living in paradise, but we are unhappy. There is little to nothing to achieve, that truly matters to our existence in the broadest sense. Things that would truly make us worse off by missing the chase of it or understanding the meaning of the word by true experience instead of false imagery. 
In this paradise everything exists before us. Clothes to the point of overproduction. Food, as much as our hearts desire to the point where obesity is our main health concern. Hostility towards our friends, because our eyes have been blinded by the bright heavenly light of wanting more and more, but not always being able to obtain it in such a human packed place. 
The voices keep telling us, that there is better to obtain, that we aren’t working hard enough, desiring hard enough, buying hard enough in order to obtain the obtainable. Namely, the thrones of the gods who are sitting above us, exclaiming that we should be grateful for the purpose they have presented in front of us. The purpose of becoming them and that rejection of this means wanting to burn in hell. 
The question that should be asked is this hypothetical scenario is, which of the places would I rather be? Is it paradise or hell? Paradise, where idealistic views will never be realised? Or hell, where you’re stepped upon for not ever being able to participate in this nonsensical game of so called self realisation? 
Having lived in paradise, having walked against many doors with false promises, rejection after rejection after rejection, it is no wonder that there would be some among us that would choose neither.
Thus stop moving forward. Letting everything drop and sigh dissatisfied over the flaws in the so immanent perfect paradise. 

Where is Sysiphus truly now that Camus has left him? Which gates have opened before him? Is Sysiphus even truly happy? But most important of all, what is he doing?  Sysiphus doesn’t live in a sort of hell, pushing the rock for eternity. He’s not happy. He’s in paradise, he’s unhappy with his rock besides him, sitting, doing nothing, but contemplating his suicide. 

Subconsciousness: A Stream of Thoughts

Let all the thoughts flow.

Touch my inner core, make me feel like I exist.

The world is empty, meaningless. 

God, my eyes hurt. 

I should sleep. Maybe next to someone. In my next dream I won't be raped.

Continue rubbing your eyes. 

Where should I go to? A trip by bus away from here to an empty beach. 

La vie n'est pas souffrir. 

J'ai mal aux yeux. Someone kiss them please?

My mind is empty. 

They used to say automatic writing was the Devil possessing you. 

Now we know it's our subconsciousness, which is as equally rot as him. 

My eyes hurt, I hate sleep, I dislike waking up.

The loveliest moment is that small moment before you fall asleep. A different dimension, not between dream and reality, but another world. 

My hair feels so soft, I wanna drown in it. I wanna drown in your arms and perfumed chest. 

Tea resembles the temperature of the human body. 

Are people who love tea more sexually frustrated?

People scare me a lot. 

I will be alone forever, what a relief. Touch now and then won't hurt though. 

We're all human after all. 

My body is itching, maybe insects are crawling over me. 

What would it be like having no father? 

I will leave them one day. They will rot eventually.

Not that they deserve it... 

I'm sorry for the way the world works, dad. Being born out of raped has caused mommy another blessing. 

A blessing or a curse. 

Whatever. You say you're happy. I assume you're not lying, not because you're not telling the truth, but because you have no choice but to be happy.

Let it not be a plastics smile. You look down on me, I know that.

I am hungry, I think. 

Scars are actually aesthetically pleasing to look at, if they're done well.

An unpopular opinion, I believe.

I should stop eating so much, but it's delicious. 

It doesn't matter, I'll just eat one meal a day for the next few days. 

Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten. And swallow.

I'm so hungry. 

When will my hair grow? 

Long hair is very sexual if done right. 

Playing with guys' emotions amuses me, just staring deeply into their eyes is enough.

I don't know why I do it. 

As revenge, a grudge against human injustice. Showing their shallow needs. 

Filthy animals. 

It's ten o' clock. Time to sleep.

God, my mind is fucked up.

Empirisme vs Rationalisme

Als liefhebber van Plato neig ik ernaar de rationele weg de voorkeur te geven, omdat Socrates gelijk heeft dat de vergankelijke wereld een schijnbeeld van zekerheid kan opwekken bij de individu. Denk hierbij aan een stok die je in het water steekt, waarna een deuk in de stok gevormd wordt. In wezen is de stok recht en door te rationaliseren kom je logischerwijs ook op die conclusie.  

Ik betwijfel het bestaan van een Ideeënwereld die hij poneert, maar wat ik niet kan ontkennen aan het denkvermogen van de mens is dat wij inderdaad de gewenning hebben om waarneembare zaken te bestempelen met diverse labels. Iets is Goed, iets is Mooi, iets is Rechtvaardig, enz.  

Wat de reden hiertoe ook moge zijn, deze begrippen worden in het alledaagse leven gehanteerd, om een referentiekader te vormen voor ons wereldbeeld, hoewel je het Goede of het Mooie of het Rechtvaardige niet als op zichzelf staande begrippen kan aanwijzen.  

Plato heeft in de abstracte zin van ons waarnemen zeker gelijk, zou ik zeggen. De Ideeën bestaan, zij het niet enkel in ons hoofd dat enkel in ordeningen kan nadenken.  

De empiristen daarentegen hebben een aards beeld over de werkelijkheid en kunnen op die wijze een hogerstaande werkelijkheid afwijzen, waardoor de focus ligt op datgene wat het meest prominent aan ons voorhanden ligt, namelijk de materie en de werking daarvan.  

Het nadeel van deze methode is echter wel dat je enkel kan redeneren tot aan het beginpunt van de potentieel waarneembare werkelijkheid (denk aan The Big Bang) en tot aan de begrenzing ervan, waardoor je vastzit in een kader van zintuigelijke waarnemingen. 

Voor de empirist die een oorzaak der allen dingen afwijst, zal dit geen probleem vormen en zal hij genoegen nemen met die kader van de werkelijkheid.  

Echter voor de rationalisten in de wereld, die de beweegreden en oorzaak der ontstaan van dingen willen kunnen begrijpen, is dit niet voldoende. Dit ongenoegen noemde Plato al in de Phaedo.  

Tot gevolg dat wellicht de natuurkundige wetenschap volledig wordt afgewezen om een andere richting tot onderzoek te nemen.  

(Zie citaat) 

''Ik zou heel graag in de leer gegaan zijn bij om het even wie die me kon leren hoe het met zo'n oorzaak gesteld is. Maar die oorzaak bleef me verborgen: ik was niet in staat ze zelf te ontdekken en kon ze evenmin van anderen leren. (d) En zo heb ik dan bij het zoeken naar een oorzaak het over een andere boeg gegooid.'' 

Goed, we hebben dus twee uitersten geconstateerd in het dialoog. Eentje van het ultiem empirisme dat enkel de oorzaken van de werkelijkheid op zich behandeld, dat wil zeggen een descriptieve uitleg van de wereld, dat enkel zover gaat als de waarneming toelaat.  Vervolgens eentje die de wereld omvat in een weerspiegeling van een absolute werkelijkheid, wat men rationalisme noemt.  

De voorkeur die ik geef baseer ik op het idee dat er in beide ideeën een kern van waarheid existeert, dat zichzelf op een dusdanige manier moet ontwikkelen waardoor de botsing opgeheven wordt.  

Het empirisme bakent de werkelijkheid wegens natuurkundige principes af, wat logisch is wanneer je realiseert dat de mensheid zelf deel uitmaakt van die genoemde werkelijkheid. Ik zie het als gegeven dat wij binnen deze vier muren van waarneming gelimiteerd zijn om kennis te hebben over de zaken zoals ze op zich zijn. Bestaan in deze wereld staat gelijk aan deel uitmaken van deze wereld. Het overstijgen is lastig en misschien onmogelijk, want hoe hard we het proberen ook aan ons gelden de natuurkundige wetten.  

Maar daarentegen beschikt de mensen over een rijk, die zich wellicht ontleent aan de empirische werkelijkheid, maar zich niet ertoe limiteert.  

De fantasie. Een plek die ik zie als broedplaats voor de nieuwsgierigheid, waardoor de mens zich aan het dierlijke onttrekt en vormgeving geeft aan zijn individu.  

En in hier meen ik dat de rationaliteit het meest te pas komt. Het empirisme mag dan wel de werkelijkheid in formules en descripties beschrijven, het rationalisme verfijnt het op een dusdanige manier dat het aan de mens een reflectie vormt van zijn positie in de wereld en hoe hij ermee om kan gaan.  

Twee methodes die gepaard moeten gaan om ons te helpen bestaan.

Diary of a Certain Lady: Chapter 9

“You know? If I had to name one thing I dislike about your face, it would be your teeth. I mean, they just don’t match your appearance. You have a gorgeous face, with gorgeous features and beautiful rosy skin, yet you have these ugly crooked teeth that ruin your face. Not to mention your smile, I might hate that the most,” I was pulling on a strand of hair. 
My mouth felt dry and I was trembling with frustration. I can’t recall what had caused me to be so mad. Nor do I remember when this conversation took place and why. I just know that we were both inside the hotelroom, with Fortuna guarding the door, ready for my misfortune to take place. I also know that after that night I fell a deep sense of anger and regret. My mind was empty and I felt dirty because of what she had caused me to do. Looking back on it, having the time to analyse my thoughts and characteristics, I know I was being irrational, but what could I do? Light can blind an individual from seeing the world as it is. Twisting  and turning us towards the roads our rotten hearts want, instead of what our good willed mind desire. And thus I had uttered my senses of stress by becoming mad at my love and life. 
Mea vita, mea culpa. She was perfect as she was. Even with her crooked teeth, childish mannerism and awkward presence, her character trades came together in a blend of different flavors, flowering into one big explosion of sensuality and pleasure. Yet, that moment I couldn’t even bear the sight of her. Something about her felt off. Her smile irritated me, her silk hair seemed so thin and lifeless, her big eyes reminded me of a broken porcelain doll a child guilelessly would throw away. 
Suddenly though, I knew whay it was that felt so off. Her lifeless presence. Her hollow eyes and skinny legs. She had shrunk in a metaphorical sense. She had become empty. It seemed as if the crapulence, of which she, the wine was the cause of (a wine I thought I could eternally drink of), had worn off. I had become sober again, I finally saw the world in a different light. A world not radiated by her, but by the sun, the stars and the moon.
Oh bliss, bliss and heaven... Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh…   What a different world it was! So crystal clear and beautifully illuminated, yet empty. Transparent and hollow instead of filled with mystic.  
“You don’t have to say it that way, I already know it,” she answered with a thin voice and watery eyes.
“No I don’t mean it in a rude way, it’s just an observation I made. Nothing to be sad about, hey stop crying,” I looked at her with raised eyebrows. She was sniffing, hiding her watery eyes behind her small hands. I had to chuckle for some reason. She looked at me in awe. 
“It might be a weird thing to say,” I paused for a second to scrap my throat before continuing. “I actually think you smiling is a terrible thing to look at. I mean, look at yourself now. You’re beautiful. You look so innocent and pure. I have difficulties refraining myself to touch you again like previous night.” I reached over to touch her cold arm, but she frightfully pulled back. 
“Please,” she said, “can you stop mentioning last night?” 
I felt my stomach was turning. A burning flame near my genitals tingled at the sight of her. Butterflies were flattering inside me and my cheeks were feeling hot. I didn’t know whether to be mad at her insult or feeling joyous at the mentioning of it at all. I licked my dry lips before asking:
“Why not? It takes two to do such an act, sweetheart,” I stroked her wet cheek. 
She cried until her clothes became soaking wet. I sat across of her, staring at her. She was indeed gorgeous if she hid her awfully looking teeth. But it wasn’t the same. She had slowly become plain. What a shame! Who would’ve thought that I’d associate a Light of God with terms as ‘awful’ and ‘plain’. But here we were. And perhaps it wasn’t her, perhaps it was me. 
Perhaps her radiating presence had lost effect over me over the course of our vacation. She was still Noor, but more dim. She had become a case on which I had to sit and ponder about instead of livie inside my own perks of reality,  something Mother had caused me to do as well. These interactions and social norms that were expected from her side from me were making me furious. How dared she drag me into her norms of reality! She was no less than Mother. A devil in an angel’s attire. There to drag me into their underworld. I was raging with anger and my flirtatious blush had become a deep agonising red. Sweat was on my forehead and I tried to control my heavy breathing, but after this wonderful insight, I had difficulties stopping myself from going all out. 
“You’re a ungrateful spoiled child,” I screamed at her. “A devil, I tell you! First there to seduct me with your angelic presence and innocent eyes, but I know what you are upto. I should’ve killed you in the bus, for now you will drag me with you into this world illuminated by hellish fire of stars and the sun. Don’t fool me. I know it all now,” I could see she was trembling in fear, but I couldn’t care less. It was not merely the frustration of reality that crept upon me, my burst of anger was everything I had kept inside over the couple of days we stayed together, exploding into a mass of rage. 
“Why won’t you radiate anymore?” I continued to her, “Hm? Answer me. Why did you change, Noor?”
She continued crying and shaking in fear. Her hair was sticking to her damp face. I shook her wildly before she finally answered me. 
“For the hundredth time, I don’t know you ma’am,” she screeched at me. “I really do not know what you’re talking ahout. Just let me go, I wanna go home, please ma’am. I just wanna go home, I don’t know you. Believe me, just let me go home, please. Please,” she had run out of breath. The last few words took the most out of her and she collapsed onto the ground. 
My mind was blanking at her response, I couldn’t think straight at that moment so I felt I need to lay down on the bed. The nausea was taking over me again and I tried to surpress it by swallowing a few times. My body hurt, but worst of all, my heart was empty. Little drops of water were rolling down my face. I picked a cigarette from my pocket and lit it before letting myself drop onto the bed and roll up into a ball desperately hoping I would soon dissolve into a gust of wind.

Diary of a Certain Lady : Chapter 8

I sometimes have moments of clarification.When the sudden thought of my existence pierces through me. Clarification, yet at the same time, a deep alienation and depression for my environment, because of my environment. I can see nothing, but the darkness of the inner core my mind, bouncing back to me from the others due to my impure thoughts and acts.

When I woke up, I was in my room. The lights were out, but I could vaguely distinguish the objects surrounding me. 
The lamp was sitting on a small table besides my bed. The window was open and a cold salty breeze filled the room.The curtains were rustling softly and the door closed. The table and chair near the television were the most difficult to see due to the way the moonlight lit the room, but they were the first things my tired eyes noticed.
Noor was sitting there, the chair turned towards the bed and away from the desk. She was looking out of the window, her tiny fingers were plucking her pink lips. Her eyes looked empty, as if they had been awake for a long time. She noticed the sound of the bed cracking. 
''You're finally awake?'' her soft voice whispered as I tried to sit up straight. 
My hands were hurting. My head hurting. 
''Yeah.'' I answered in a trembling voice. 
I tried to remember what had happened. I saw the beach before me, Noor sitting in front of me. The bruises on my hands remembered me of what had happened. How I had an attack Mother always hated so much and how I embarrassed myself in front of Noor. 
Blood was rushing to my cheeks and my heart was  pounding heavily in my chest. My head felt light and as she spoke to me, I couldn't do anything but break down in tears. I didn't hear what she said and frankly I didn't care. Embarrassment was the only thing I could feel at that moment and I was drowning in it to the point I couldn't breath anymore. 
I had buried my head inside a pillow, too ashamed to look at her worried eyes. She quickly rushed over to my side. Her warm petite hand was stroking my back and pushing my hair away, so that they wouldn't stick to my damp cheeks.
My throat hurt as I was desperately trying to inhale the cold air. My lungs were refusing the unfamiliar air. My head felt light, I couldn't think straight anymore. 

What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? What are you doing here? What's the point, eh? Why are you here? What is your purpose here? Your purpose. Why are you here? The point, eh? Your purpose. Tell me your purpose.  

''I wanna go home!'' I finally cried. Noor looked startled. 
I could slowly feel my breathing tempo becoming normal again. I sighed a few times deeply, until my heart rate became regular. A void of nothingness replaced the panic.
''Hm, hm,'' she mumbled. 
I looked at the sheets, as she stroked my back and touched my head. I felt ashamed and gross. The girl with the fair hair climbed on the bed and sat across of me with her legs open towards me. Her hands were resting in front of her and she leaned on them, uncomfortably moving to the front and back. 
She looked so young and childish. Her shoeless feet were visible and she wiggled her toes. Her eyes were filled with worries. 
''Please say something,'' I begged as she was looking out of the window.
I couldn't see what she thinking. I tried looking for her eyes, but she turned her head away from me. Her blonde hair had a blue glow in the night, that made her look more mature. When she finally turned her gaze towards me, her eyes were looking right through me. I felt a shiver in my spine as she spoke. 
''You can't go home,'' she said in a rather icy voice. 
''Why not?'' 
She stared out of the window again, now biting her lower lip. I waited patiently, but she remained silent. I waited for her lips to open up, but nothing came out of her. 
My heart was aching, so I leaned towards her and took her pale hand. They felt surprisingly warm in mine. She first looked at our hands and then at me. Her eyes looked inviting, her lips whispered something that my head chose to ignore. Maybe so I could fully imbibe her presence. 
As she sat there glowing as pale as only the moon could, I can tell you, dear reader, had she obeyed me to die before her, I would've fallen before her feet. Right there in that very room, with a blush of shame on my cheeks, I could only think about what sweet secret there was for me to explore behind the ivory chambers that beheld the lock to our intimacy. 
A lock for me to open. 
As I pulled myself closer to her, I felt our friendship bloom to its fullest. The shame I felt earlier completely vanished in order for me to drown in the sea of lust that her thirst provoking lips pulled me into. And with every sip I took, my need to drink grew.
That was indeed, my dear reader, the moment I had come to the realization that she whom I had seen as a friendly stranger, had become my mirror in more than one way. Reflecting not only who I truly was, but also reflecting the long held desire we both felt and that was finally reaching its climax.

When the peak of the mountain had been conquered, she layed besides me with her head buried in my neck, while I lit a cigarette. Her lips finally opened up.

''I wanna die.”