We fall in love with the stories we tell ourselves and fall in love with the parts we play. In this way, there is no chance, no risk, that we ourselves might love another, and so have our heart touched or broken.
We move in and out of day and night, pushing loneliness aside, secretly feasting on pain, resentment, envy and fear, but move back to the story, in which we are always center stage.
The story is about how we are more important that we are, or less important than we are and how we will never be like all the others. We look through the glass and it seems that others are more happy, more connected, more real, somehow, but we ourselves, we hold to a higher ideal.
If we are lucky, the stories fall apart, and life tells us something different. If we are lucky, the stories tell us to choose one day, between the story or the reality, and if we are wise, we let the story fall behind, holding onto nothingness. And out of this nothingness, love arises.
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