Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Another mistake.

The other day I was reading a book by Alain De Botton.  
 I felt a weird sensation, as he put into words, things that I have had great difficulty explaining even to myself.

“Though we sometimes suspect that people are hiding things from us, it is not until we are in love that we feel an urgency to push our enquiries and in seeking answers we are apt to discover the extent to which people disguise and conceal their real lives”.

This exact urgency was what led me to want to know.
And later I got to know too much.

Mr. De Botton goes on writing about me:

“It is one of the powers of jealousy to reveal to us the extent to which the reality of external facts and the emotions of the heart are an unknown element which lends itself to endless suppositions (supposing). We imagine that we know exactly what things are and what people think, for the simple reason that we do not care about them. But as soon as we have a desire to know, as the jealous man has, then it becomes a kaleidoscope in which we can no longer distinguish anything”.

I was jealous with her past, and threw the dirt I found straight into her face.
After knowing, I felt empty, dirty and despicable, I wish I didn’t know, I wish I could see her as I did before.

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