Smerinthus cerisyi
I used to think everyone had these kinds of depressed fantasies, because I’m an egotist, but then I realized this isn’t true because no one else exists. And I patted myself on the back for being so clever.*
* Reference to daydreaming about coping with unbearable loss.
Thoughtful sadness, like you’re putting some effort into it, as though you have it all planned out with a Venn diagram, complete with an appropriate analogy, proud of the resulting sense of worthlessness because you are, after all, an artisan. Olly olly melancholy. Alle, alle auch sind frei. All ye, all ye, oxen free!*
* Memory of being taught a silly childhood game. Anachronistic, like London Bridge and Ring Around the Rosey.
It may manifest prickly and thorny and in all manner of misshapen affection, but it is love nonetheless. And at some point you’ll understand it’s the only love worth cherishing, that which drives you to the point of insanity and back. It’s not conventional, but she adores you, and she’s so proud, she is, and I would adore you that way if I could.*
* To someone who needs to hear it.
Why?*
* Because I opened my eyes once to current events. I didn’t like what I saw. So I stopped looking. My friends said, “You cannot run away from the world’s problems. That’s cowardice. You have to…”
But by that point I had already covered my ears with my hands, and all I remember is NANANANANANANANA
This has untold implications for guilt.*
*The Russians covered their tanks in reactive armor. When attacked, the surface explodes, leaving a scarred and ostensibly destroyed shell that still serves to protect what’s left inside.
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