AboutProfile by xLadiexPixiex. <3
How I wish you could have kept on living a life of joy. But no one can. Language comes to us, and with it lies and threats, cruelty and disappointment. You walk, and those steps lead you outside the shelter of your home. To keep the joy of childhood you would have to die as a child, or live as one, never becoming a man, never growing. So I can grieve for the lost child, and yet not regret the good man braced with pain and riven with guilt, who yet was kind to me and many others, and whom I loved, and whom I also almost knew. Almost, almost knew.
"Knowledge is just opinion that you trust enough to act upon."
"Your trust in rationality makes you irrational."
"All the stories are fictions. What matters is which fiction you believe."
"Obstacles? Men like you don't have obstacles. Just steppingstones."
"Men like me?"
"Yes, men like you. Just because I've never met any others. Just because no matter how much I loved [him] he was never for one day as alive as you are every minute. Just because I found myself loving as an adult for the first time when I loved you. Just because I have missed you more than I miss even my children, even my parents, even the lost loves of my life. Just because I can't dream of anyone but you, that doesn't mean that there isn't somebody else just like you somewhere else. The universe is a big place. You can't be all that special. Can you?"
"You do still love me, then?"
"Oh, is that what you came for? To find out if I loved you?"
"No matter what they say they all intend to live"
"Except the suicides?"
"They intended to live, too. Suicide is a desperate attempt to get rid of unbearable agony."
Have I lost my mind? Or have I, finally, found my heart?
Will the love I have for you be enough....? To reach out to you when I’m in need, and to try to be here for you when you need me back. And to feel such tenderness when I look at you that I want to stand between you and all the world: and yet also lift you up and carry you above the strong currents of life; and at the same time, I would be glad to stand always like this, at a distance watching you, the beauty of you, your energy as you look up at these [people], speaking to them as an equal even though every movement of your hands, every fluttering syllable of your speech cries out that you're a child - is it enough for you that I feel these loves for you? Because it’s enough for me. And enough for me that when my hand touched your shoulder, you leaned on me; and when you felt me slip away, you called my name.
You are only human. I mean it. The price of having these emotions, these passions, is that you have to control them, you have to bear them when they're too strong to bear. You're only human now. You'll never make these feelings go away. You just have to learn not to act on them.
"I've had your tears with mine, and you've had mine with yours. I think that's more intimate than even a kiss."
"Maybe. But not as fun."
She wants what everybody wants—to be loved and cared for, to be part of something beautiful and fine, to have the respect of those she admires.
She worked her toes into the sand, feeling the tiny delicious pain of the friction of tiny chips of silicon against the tender flesh between her toes. That's life. It hurts, it's dirty, and it feels very, very good.
But he did love her, with all his heart he loved her. All his heart? All of it he knew about.
"Doesn't it make you wonder about your own sexual identity, not to mention your sanity, that the two women you love are, respectively, a virtual woman existing only in the transient ansible connections between computers and a woman whose soul is in fact that of a man who is the husband of your mother?"