The
man who cried love
Once upon a
time there was a man gifted with the innocence of a child.
His gift
allowed him to feel the purest love of all, a lifetime of learning and
discovering the world with his beloved.
But the kid
was curious, and one day he yearned for more... for the unknown, for a piece of
the world for himself, on his own. But she did not understand, she felt she was
not enough. Out of spite she left him alone, the man and the child. That was
the first time the man cried as the child inside started to die.
The man
needed to forget, so he followed the feelings of his nature. He felt sporadic
doses of love and many more of pleasure... it was not enough. And the child
witnessed it all...
But again,
the child woke up the man... he wanted to see what was ahead, where his eyes
could not reach, where the path did not go... far from predestined... from the
expected. So he started to walk while holding her hand, “I’m showing you more”
he said. She did not believe, not understood... once again, she was not enough
to make him stay... she walked away and left them alone.
The man and
the child stood still, they did not move, they didn’t know why.
They wanted
to run, to make her come back; they wanted her to leave, to feel themselves
free.
But they
could not move, they did not want, they didn’t know how...
This time
the man did not cry.
His heart
stopped feeling, the kid stopped wanting...
The man
wondered if he has been selfish; the child asked himself if he has been wrong.
The
appearance of doubts gave rise to frustration, lack of decision, fearing the
uncertain.
The eyes of
each other were claiming reproach.
The man
accused himself for the choices he made.
These
choices became mistakes, the mistakes began to weight.
His love
turned into hate, hate into blame...
He did no
longer believe love could exist
Feelings of
mistrust derived into lies
Desire of punishment,
the idea of revenge
Love turned
into lust, women into cunts
He used
them as a mean to forget his loneliness
Spreading
his guilt with every ejection of content
Every drop
of his cum poisoned their hearts
Addictive
as a drug, they always came back
The man was
dishonest, he was not gifted, he was not innocent
He chased
in the night the voice of the child.
He could
not hear, he could not feel it.
For the
last time the man cried, as he realised that in his arms the child had died.
