Benjamin Franklin (via just-wrote-it
Helene Cixous, The Laugh of the Medusa
"I have to write it down because it’s the first time I’ve ever felt it. The source of clichés themselves, the source of I want to spend the rest of my life with you, the source of I can’t imagine being without you the source of thinking about kissing you and you kissing me back and holding me, the bliss of that. I felt it once before, but not so strongly. I always knew with him, deep down, it was mutual respect and attraction and closeness. No struggle, blissfully happy. But now I think you have to struggle, you have to feel pain to really feel love. The thought of being without you terrifies me, paralyses me, incapacitates me. Just being around you, being near you, knowing you’re in the room or the same building, I can’t wait to see you. I love you. I love you with every twist of my intestine, I feel it in my stomach, I feel myself on fire. Every hug, every touch, leaves me burning. You have shot me to bits. You have made yourself a prize, an unattainable future, a searingly vivid dream that seems like it’s only one step away and yet will never ever come true. And then all the while knowing I’ll move on, that one day I’ll never understand, though there will be scars in unexpected places. There will be the eternal failure, the eternal sting of the not-achieved, the unfinished, the ever-incomplete. Because you loved me too, hidden, not as strong. It didn’t override you, it never took full control of your fibres the way it did me. It tore me apart, it just became latent in you. A sleepy love, a lazy love. A love that knew it didn’t have to try. I wanted to inhabit ‘she’, I wanted to be the girl you always looked for in a room, even if you didn’t know you were looking. I wanted to be the one who walked in and you would think, ‘she’ and that one word, that one pronoun would encompass everything. I have been there for you in every move, I have been close to you, I have been ever present. I have been there unasked, uninvited even. And you got used to me. A sleepy, lethargic love. A love of something so familiar you couldn’t imagine being without it. Not a burning love, not a passionate one, not a physical one. A comforting love. You couldn’t handle what I felt for you, this unyielding, exigent love. We could have been amazing, but I fear that I am a woman and you are a boy, that I am clear and you are not, although you say it’s me that’s hard to understand. You don’t understand what you feel yourself. You are letting go of something before you even realise how special it is. But I can’t wait for you, if I want to live. So I have to let you go now, too."