Now, I feel myself the guilty hero of a perfect love story who is doomed to lose. A story of loss whose end is obvious from its beginningÃÂ I am struggling inevitably in order to change the fortune of this love. But my childish hopes and inescapable defeats which come after that, can only add colour and excitement into this story. They add continuity. But whoever reads it, will know that this is a story of loss. Only I donÃÂt want to believe this. And you are in the story and inside the exterior life both. You havenÃÂt come off streets. Sometimes you want to get lost in other love stories and you want to be the heroin of some other stories. You call this ÃÂfreedomÃÂ.
Why...WhyÃÂ Why I? Death really starts from these questions. Death is an answerless question which is made bleed continuously by non-existence and the bottomless loneliness.
You are losing yourself, you are losing your sweetheart who you love more than yourself and you are losing your love ÃÂthe unique truth that you know makes life bearableÃÂ, by these questions each time again. The instantaneous pains of loss changes into a real missing in the life you are not belong to. Your entire role in this life is to lose whatever happens, whatever changes from now on.
You canÃÂt realise the meaning of your loss. You have never shared yourself. You didnÃÂt remain without yourself. No, donÃÂt talk about the cruel exile inside you to me. Beware! DonÃÂt talk about your lack of having yourself, because you are an utter darkness. You are the one you couldnÃÂt find. You are the one with your losses, suicides, abandons, with your endless trips that you have travelled into the exiles of your soul.. It is ÃÂyouÃÂ and I loved it. I loved the burning non-existence inside you. I loved the endless blank inside you and your ego which you are yearning. You didnÃÂt remain deprived of yourselfÃÂ