She said to him, I want to be like you, lonely and widowed, like a deserted island. See no one, don't speak.
It was such a sudden decision. Divorce, sell all possessions cheaply, including houses and wedding rings that have been worn for many years. With only simple luggage, I hit the road alone at a quiet dawn, without saying goodbye to all the people and things I have experienced and had in the past.
I'm? Why are we alive?
Dear Vincent, I think we are all strangers in this world, we have the same loneliness.
"I want to be like you, living alone and widowed, like a deserted island. I don't see anyone, and I don't speak." She told him.
"I want to be like you, living alone and widowed, like a deserted island. I don't see anyone, and I don't speak." you say to yourself.
For a long time, I was alone. Didn't even step out of the door. It was like I was trapped, on an isolated island. But that's exactly what I want. I need to live alone like this.
You seal yourself off like you're imprisoned on an island. I don't see anyone, I don't speak, I just live with your loneliness. In the afternoon, through the narrow window, you see grey birds flying by quietly. You discover that life can be as silent as death. Winter became the grandfather clock with missing hands in Matisse's "Red Studio". Time seems to be frozen, and even breathing is stagnant. Only the Italian pianist Ludovico Einaudi's "Nuvole Bianche" still reverberates in the room, as if it had traveled to another time and space.
The dark and unfathomable past dwelling in caves, the weeping tears, and the shadows clinging to the body like leeches. You seem to hear the echo of your violent collision in the dark abyss of memory. It is like a giant beast that was besieged in ancient times, and it is like a ghost that has been wandering forever and ever. Flickering with loneliness and sadness, frightening and trembling.
When night came, those lingering images began to tear me apart, as if they were going to tear me apart. As a result, I have frequent insomnia. So I cried all night long, and fell asleep until dawn. A lot of times I woke up and I was alone. I couldn't find myself all the time, I didn't know what to do next, and I was in pain.
There are so many struggles in life and I am going through these. This winter, I lived in a remote suburb. No job and no friends. Haven't been home for two years. I don't want to go home either, there are too many pasts that I don't want to face. I hid myself and didn't know how long I could last, so I just stayed by myself. do nothing. Can't even remember what to do. Everything looked dim and lost. There wasn't even anything that seemed hopeful growing out of me. I'm like a hopeless person, living without hope. There is really no hope, not even a dream. I am constantly depressed. I have always been confused about what purpose people are for, and I have endured day-to-day life. Everything seemed hopeless. I don't even know how long I can live. I don't know anything about the future, and I don't want to know. Live every day in a daze. Wake up and sleep. Wake up and sleep again.
From summer to autumn, from autumn to winter, from winter to spring, from spring to summer, you wake up in a single bed in a low-rent housing, like waking up crying from a dream, with tears in the corners of your eyes. Somehow, you start to cry again, and tears run down the corners of your eyes, soaking the pillow. You struggled to huddle into a ball, twitching, shaking, and breathing in a chaotic, rapid, terribly uncomfortable way. I often bite my arm and scratch myself. I cried until I lost the strength, and then fell asleep again drowsily.
The world suddenly fell silent, and you could hear the rustling of raindrops on the paulownia leaves outside the window. It went on for more than twenty hours. You just realized that the rainy season is coming, millions of leaves in the jungle at the southern foot of the Himalayas are slowly falling, and there is no sun day after day. She was in Milan at this time. Where will she be after tomorrow. Denmark or Paris? What about tomorrow after tomorrow? Will love ever come back. I am oblivious.
Thoreau's "Walden" wrote: "I step into the jungle because I want to live meaningfully, I want to live deeply, to absorb all the essence of life, and to crush everything that is not life, so as not to be me At the end of my life, I find that I have never lived."
I also want to live a meaningful life. So, over the years, I have been recording my life in such a way of talking to myself, and trying to restore the "me" of the past through memory and writing. Constantly trying to dissect, face and accept. In order to obtain some way of healing, a road through the long dark, in order to live through this "Nothing Life".
2014.05.31
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