Pages from an unwritten novel

                                                                                *****

"Everything began with a sleazy, clicheic 69 tweet." This is how this letter was supposed to start. I felt the need to let the entire world know what is happening behind the scenes.

I thought that if I put on paper all the evilness, the beauty, the challenges, the roads I travelled for several years, it would help me somehow go through the ordeal. Because the ordeal didn't stop when it was supposed to stop. No, ladies and gentlemen. The ordeal went on even with uninvited guests. Guests lacking minimum of decency. Guests driven by such malice, alienation and lack of respect, that everybody involved froze in place speechless and baffled.

But lets not digress. As you can suspect, what we thought it was miraculous and divinely brought to our paths vanished from my heart. And I think... out of the entire story, this is what hurts most. Stealing from me all the moments we shared. Influenced or not, on purpose or not, it doesn't even matter anymore. The wounds are so deep and so "unhealable", that only hatred can do real justice. But hatred is such a big and useless word. Rationality, cold blood and determination sound better. More to the point.

Therefore, the story that needed to be told is dead. Too many words were spoken on all sides. Good ones, but mostly bad ones. Unimaginable ones. Broken, raw ones. One thing is when somebody makes himself a life without you, giving up on you with the easiness you click the Block button on Twitter, but another thing is when somebody is using you shamelessly to put order in his life, in the process allowing the above mentioned guests to behave as if the world had turned into a place without laws and where anarchy prevailed.

I am robbed. Mercilessly. Walking Dead like inner life. No wonder a fly is buzzing me, as if I dont exist. And I dont have palms to slap it. A stone instead of a soul. Now that we know the robbers, what exactly can we do? Society is not on their sides. So the right and correct solutions will be searched for. Because the world is unbalanced.

They say people change. Or maybe not. Maybe they were like this all this time. Merely faking everything, because I was at hand, offering support even when I was sleeping.

The feeling we call love, the longing, the desperation provoked by absence is still there nevertheless. And most probably will always be. But when somebody dies, then its over. You cannot talk to a dead person, right?

I kept the part of the deal we had until the very last second. Now it is time to take care of liabilities and damages. Because too many provisions of the contract were violated. Not even millionaires would get away with so many mistakes, errors and damages done with a clear purpose in mind: you die, because I don't care, while I live happily ever after. Thank you. You were such a lady. But its time to focus on my wellbeing. Oh...and yes. Thank you. Because I know you will keep your mouth shut, while I dance. I am smiling. You see? I am cool. You are cool. Oh...you are not? Ahhh, you are in pain? So what...?  

The story goes on. It is being written right now. But not with love and admiration. Not with a smile, a tear and a joke. Because he doesn't deserve. I don't deserve. The guests don't deserve. At all. Eventually we all failed to be human. Broken toys thrown in a greyish attic, where there is no light, no warmth, no air. The story is being written with dripping blood right now.

Life will settle things on its own. And I despise life for letting such a crime happen. Life is just a cheap brothel. And we circle around inside it, wearing too much make-up. We have the audacity to believe that, if we shove in front of the audience our sad face with a black trace of the smudged mascara, they will feel pity and they will save us all from the misery. Delusional. We deserve to be here.

Because we chose, step by step, to stay in it.

But then again... until we meet, stay tuned. And alert. It is over when I say it is over. Because...loyalty is gone now. We are on our own. I paid my price. With interest and all. Time for others to pay, too. I will even put a good word with the bank. Why struggling to reimburse big hunches of sorrow over a short period of time under such a pressure? Dont worry. I will arrange lifetime small and intense instalments for you.

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