D. (dalaruan) wrote,

betrayal - dedicated to M.

Wrong life cannot be lived rightly.
                       Theodor Adorno, Minima Moralia.

To betray yourself. And others. It's a kind of denial. This then the kernel of the brute. The liar is the destroyer.

Parts of my life I fooled myself out of my life, wasting my time, in standby position, years full of self-destructive numbness.


Fifteen years ago I met a man at university. He was withdrawn, sometimes stiff and awkward. I was always attracted by this type and played my favoured role, la belle dame sans merci. But this time I couldn't forget my victim. Appalled by this I turned to other men. And returned to him. Ever and ever again. Then I broke away for good, started a new, conventional life, a philistine Jane Doe.
And no birds sang.


Again I missed him and didn't know why.

When the lesson in wrong life ended just a year ago, I returned to my old life. And to him.
He was still there, still alone, his door still open.

What kind of tale is this?
Tags: dedication, love that killing field

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