in the dream life, i wouldn’t stumble upon two of my ex girlfriends on nerve. in that life, the remains of the last one wouldn’t be in my closet. in that life, i would also want to jump from my towers of fear and face the real life. in this life, i wonder which is worse: dying old alone or believing that finding the one will make laugh louder.
so, i briefly encountered a wonderful little book by rilke entitled ‘letters to a young poet.’ in so much that the elder rilke is writing to his younger self, what news of an old monkey monk say to himself now? Speed it up. how should you speed it up i ask? get married and get a divorce but don’t have kids. you will adore the kids too much and become all that you have vehemently tried to deny. i find it hard to believe that such an advice would be feasible although given my last close call, i no longer doubt that i am a weak man as a comes to the other kind. Maybe the advice the advice is sound given my bipolarity.
yet another friend was entangled in the web of relationship kind. it’s unfortunate that i see so much of this entanglement that the whole concept loses any sense of romance. still, it’s extra fancy when i witness the evolution from the historical perspective. not too often have i been witness the seeds of romance to the fruition of committment. luckily, my top two wingman have remain steadfast in their committment of singlehood. together, we will fight the powers to be with every effort knowing all too well the fragility of our alliance and own strength.