Thoughts of Ani: To burn a love that has a name

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This onistic frustration stems from an unhealthy obsession of regrets undone by reconciliation. Sometimes there is a desire to hop on to the closest refuge in order to mitigate the sorrow, diving in for a temporary high, not knowing that the consequences may lead to another undesirable outcome, but overall the chances of the original sin ever going away is next to none, constantly chafed by the resilience of nature that persists ever so much. I will always be an avatar of all that is worst of me. My worst being the selfsame nature of that which is best of me. Passion which begets unknown results, often causing downfall to those who have sacrificed all there is in order to attain one particular goal.

But I have never known a goal of so much worth that I would dedicate my entire being to. None that deserves that attention because nothing checks out the prerequisites. And as much as I try to label my own value of standards into other people and things and ideas that may commendably be worthy of such praise, it truly does not matter to me if the recipient of such boon is untasted by me nor by my kin. I am not a charity box for the frail and the downtrodden. My love and kindness for others is for mine own benefit, and others who claim the same opinion who come across as philanthropic are either backwards hypocritical or very good bunburyists. True altruism has died a long time ago. Real sacrifice is a diamond in a rough. And this is probably why I am so drawn to Ainhoa in such an intense way.

Because her true darkness is beguilingly obvious to me that it hurts.

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