OH, THE HUNGER (diary entry of a kinda honest pathological liar)
Oh, the hunger – starving and naked, hysterically quiet, awfully aware of what my fingers do in the dark. I was always devoted to nothing but suffering. The womb of my mother never carried me in umbilical fluid but liquid sadness. I am not naturally cynical. I force it upon myself like a hammer hitting nails in my trembling palm. The sharpest bits sneak into my bloodstream and I think that’s what my mother breastfed me with. Where is God in all of this? I must stop looking for God in all things.
I looked over our grocery list. In the top left corner it said `31st of may` and after your messy handwriting of eggs and milk and bread, the bottom was ruined by water (my tears if I recall correctly) and the red ink said `I’ll love you for as long as you allow me to and as long as my heart can bear it.’ It was quite pathetic of me to send you shopping for more time, more affection. It was not a mandatory request, only a need that could have gone unnoticed. I baked a cake when you came back and I choked on it. There is a certain satisfaction when you eat and cry simultaneously: it is always another hunger I am trying to satisfy. But this is what cynicism does, it wakes a little prophet inside of you, creates a cult of devotion to all the wrong things. If I didn’t predict that the cake would go sour after three bites, I would’ve had to stuff my mouth with lemons, to quickly make myself responsible for all misfortunes. To speak frankly, this is not enough. To all my friends who I made believe my hunger could easily be satisfied by a presence, a touch, a look – I lied. The heart crash is only satisfying when the ride hits the extra mile at the intersection where all needs meet. And if you can’t hit the road and accelerate, I will continue to lie and tell you I love you because I can’t help it, because I don’t mean it, but I kinda do.
I want the fatal devotion, the salacious desperation, the mouth-watering, delirious narrative of flesh and soul intertwining in possession, hunger, obsession. The flowers must be nice, though.
