Love is fiction

Love isn´t for humans…..whatever you do….however hard you try….you are always going to be human, full of human flaws…..and human misery and human treason for all you believe in or you wish for.

Love is for the fictional beings…..the ones who can withstand the everyday life and the trappings that come with it. They stand above all those insecure dilemma, those misunderstandings….that make our life the hell that it is.

They rise to a point where love is possible….the only place where it is possible.

Love is fiction….we made up love…and only in the place of creating it can exist. Only in our minds….in paintings, in books, in poetry, in films and in the strange place that is our imagination it can bloom and come to the illusionary manifest we adore and hold high.

We cannot, and never will withstand reality. It is the killer of all things we wish to be true.

Heroism! Loyalty! Civil courage! And Love!

Anxoius

Feeling a little down, but not too hard. Just anxious and frightened because of the big world out there and the poetry slam.....and my appointment with my therapist and the progress of my writing. Wanna talk to someone...but it´s half past two and I guess not much people are awake.
So...I rant here.....it doesn´t matter that no one reads this.....it´s a fuse I guess. So it works.
Why are writers and artists so drawn to drugs.....alcohol and otherwise.....what is it that tangles us together? Interwines us and keeps us hooked and safe at the same time?